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fatherwound · 1 day ago

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𝐈 𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟓: fake plastic trees: joel’s pov

masterpost • ao3

summary — joel sees your car in the driveway from down the road, and he feels the beginnings of a smile creep on to his lips. the two of you have always been close, but sometime over the past month he started to be excited to see you. for the longest time he simply saw you as an extension of sarah, someone to look after, to protect and care for. but in the passing month, your presence has started to feel less like spending time with a friend of sarah’s, or the daughter of his best friend, and more like something else. like spending time with someone he is close with.

word count: 5.4k

content warnings — age gap relationship (reader is late 20s/joel early 50s), complex themes that come alongside dbf, this could be taboo for some so if you're that person then don't read! otherwise this chapter is fairly free of cw, just go in with an open mind.

author's note — okay so this chapter kicked my ass. seriously i rewrote it a few times and almost completely scrapped it but finally got something i am remotely happy with. next time i do a joel pov i will make it a complete stand alone chapter. i really did my best to try and capture joel's internal conflict when it comes to our reader. i've only ever experienced these feelings from her perspective, so imagining the complexity of how he might feel was originally what made me want to write this chapter. i love media/art that delves into the complexity of relationships and the taboo so even though this chapter was a challenge to write i hope it came out well, so let me know <3!! as always like if you read, and reblogs are greatly appreciated. thank you all for the support on this fic it truly means the world to me! ૮₍ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ₎ა ₊˚⊹ᰔ

additional note — this chapter is joel's pov of the previous chapter, make sure to read it before reading this one! if you would like to be added to a tag list for future chapters comment on this chapter! ₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ ₊˚⊹♡

Joel stares at your name on the screen, finger hovering over the blue letters. He doesn’t know why he’s hesitating, it’s not abnormal for him to call on your birthday. Yet something deep in the back of Joel’s mind tells him it’s different. Maybe it’s something to do with intent: he wants to wish you a happy birthday of course, but it’s also Friday. He hadn’t realized how nice it’s been to look forward to your company at the end of each week, but knowing that you likely won’t come tonight is a little disappointing. He chastises himself for even thinking that. Of course you’re not going to come, you surely have any number of things you would rather do than spend your birthday with him.

He shakes his head and presses your name, holding the phone up to his ear. The phone rings for a few moments, long enough that he’s almost about to hang up, when it picks up, your breath heaving on the other end. Joel hesitates another moment, before clearing his throat, “Hey birthday girl”.

“Hey Joel, what’s up?” Your voice sounds slightly off, and he worries he’s caught you at a bad time.

“I was just wantin’ to wish you a Happy Birthday”, Joel leans back into the sofa in the trailer that’s serving as a makeshift breakroom on the site. He rubs his hand on the back of his neck, trying to relieve some of the tension that's permanently taken root in his aging body, “You got any big plans for today?” He does his best to sound casual, not wanting you to feel any sort of obligation to y’alls weekly routine.

There’s a pause before you respond, “Uh so actually about that, I was hoping I could still come over for dinner tonight, like usual…”

Joel’s eyebrows shoot up, his hand stopping in its menstruations, “Oh!” He sits up a bit straighter at that, that is not what he was expecting you to say and he’s trying to ignore the stir in his gut that feels suspiciously like excitement.

Before he has a chance to respond, your voice comes in anxious and rambling, “Unless you don’t want to. I just thought… ya know it’s been kind of a nice routine… why break it?”

A smile threatens to break across his face, betraying the nonchalance he is trying to conjure up about this change of plans. But he doesn’t want to give away anything. Part of him wonders if you just feel bad about ditching him for a night out with friends. Joel would love to have you over, but he doesn’t want you to come just because you feel like you have to, so he treads cautiously, “Yeah no of course. I wouldn’t mind one bit but you don’t have plans with your Dad, or some friends?”

It’s quiet on the other end for a moment, and he’s instantly kicking himself for prying. When you finally respond, your voice comes out dejected, “Dad actually had to go to Houston this weekend. He left this morning and… well, you’re kind of the only person I’ve spent time with since I’ve been back…” Joel curses under his breath, of course Daniel had to work. It’s nothing new, his best friend has always had a knack for being neglectful. Then again, for the first time it occurs to him that he hasn’t once heard you talk about any friends since coming back home. If anything, you seem to do everything but talk about your personal life. He rubs at his eyes, conflicting emotions threatening to tear away at careful compartments he’s made when it comes to you.

A part of him hates that he’s all you seem to have at the moment. Knowing that it’s your birthday and there is no one for you to spend it with aside from him has his heart ache for you.

But on the other hand, in the darkest recesses of his mind: he likes knowing you depend on him. Joel has always had an almost compulsive need to care for those who are important to him, and you're nothing if not important. It also gives him the opportunity to spend the evening with her and the chance to make it special just for you. It’s selfish of him to want this, and he hates himself for it.

He pulls himself from his train of thought, realizing he’s paused for probably a moment too long, and tells you to come by. The genuine excitement in your voice tugs at his heart strings. He likes knowing that he’s the cause of it.

He hangs up the phone and rests his head on the back of the couch, staring up at the water stained ceiling of the trailer. He wants to make the night special, but it’s already well into the afternoon and there isn’t much he can do so last minute. You’d always had a sweet tooth, so he settles on a simple cake. Maybe a small gesture, but he’d always loved Sarah’s reactions to the cakes he would get her – face alight with childlike giddiness.

His mind conjures up the thought of you like that, face split in a beaming grin, and something twists inside him. You look beautiful when you smile. The smallest hint of a gap between your teeth, freckles crinkling on your nose, your one dimple making an appearance. Something unspeakable begins to unfurl in his chest, clinging to the back of his ribcage. It’s foreign, something he hasn’t felt in years. That realization hits him, but almost as soon as it’s there it’s gone – his mind a clean slate again.

He stands up quickly, hoping with movement he can shake off whatever started to settle over him just then. He opens the door to the trailer, the Texas sun blinding him for a moment before his eyes readjust. He walks up to the flannel clad back of Tommy who’s currently shooting the shit with a few of the guys over sandwiches.

“Hey, I’ve gotta run, last minute errand just came up. You got this?” Joel’s voice is commanding in a way that tells Tommy there isn’t any other option than for him to say yes.

“Yeah. Sure brother, whatever y’need. Everythin’ alright?”

Joel nods, a noncommittal sound coming out before he slaps Tommy on the back and turns heading for his truck. A/C on full blast and the radio quietly playing a Rush song, he leaves the parking lot, clouds of gravel dust surrounding his truck.

Once on the road, he rolls his window down, pulling a half empty cigarette pack from his glove box, pulling one out with his teeth. He throws the pack on the seat, and rummages around for the lighter he’d bought. Flame kissing the end of the cigarette, he pulls in a drag, the familiar burn of smoke filling his lungs. The feeling reminds him of the first cigarette he’d had in years, on that beach at the lake. Before he can stop himself, his mind flashes an image of your lips wrapped around the cigarette the two of you had shared. The blush that had crept across your cheeks when he had put your cigarette to his lips, the quick aversion of your eyes, and once again he finds himself having to wrangle his own thoughts.

Taking another drag, he allows himself half a moment longer of reflection before taking the memory and tucking it back into its fortified box in the back of his mind. Locked tight enough that hopefully it won’t escape every time he tastes the burn of tobacco.

Joel sees your car in the driveway from down the road, and he feels the beginnings of a smile creep on to his lips. The two of you have always been close, but sometime over the past month he started to be excited to see you. For the longest time he simply saw you as an extension of Sarah, someone to look after, to protect and care for. But in the passing month, your presence has started to feel less like spending time with a friend of Sarah’s, or the daughter of his best friend, and more like… something else. Like spending time with someone he is close with.

He’s not sure when the switch started, but it feels gradual, something subtle that has crept up on him. So when he opens up the front door of his house to the delicious smell of garlic and baked chicken, the TV humming from the living room, he can’t stop the small smile that lights his features. It’s been nice having the house alive on Friday evenings, it almost feels like Sarah is back home on those nights, but the air is distinctly different.

Something much more akin to how he imagines it would be to have someone to come home to, but as soon as it appears he wipes that thought from his mind. Thoughts like that keep finding their way into the forefront of his mind, and it feels like spiders crawling under his skin. The wires in his brain cross every so often when it comes to you, and it’s been happening more and more lately. You’re not some woman to come home to, you’re his best friend's daughter, Sarah’s friend, and you will always be that. He really needs to get out more.

Joel walks quietly by the living room, seeing the back of your head as you recline against the couch. Normally he would announce his presence but he’s hoping he can get the cake he bought for you into the fridge without you seeing. He’s able to slip by unnoticed, and holding the box on one arm, he nudges the fridge open. He sets it down on the counter so he can rearrange things a bit. Unfortunately, even with your frequent stocking of the fridge, it’s relatively empty, so he’s only able to make a feeble attempt at hiding it behind a few items before giving up. Joel grabs a beer while he’s at it, and walks back towards the living room.

He sees the TV first, you’re watching what looks to be some sort of 80s slasher judging by the low quality, cheesy music, and large breasted woman running through the woods. He turns the corner of the couch, finally pulling his eyes away from the TV, and when his eyes land on you he freezes in his tracks.

You look — different.

Beautiful, if he’s honest. Your hair is pulled up in a messy ponytail, a few strands hanging in loose waves, framing your face. Your brow is furrowed in concentration, a small crease between them that reminds him of faces he’s seen you make as a kid when you were concentrating on homework or reading a book on his back porch.

He then takes in the most jarring difference of all — you have makeup on.

It’s not that he’s never seen you wear makeup. He saw you before prom, graduation, parties, various dates; so it’s not exactly new. But he hasn’t seen you like this in a long time. Not since you’ve left adolescence behind, evolving into the woman now sitting on his couch.

When did she change so much? He swears in a flash you’ve gone from the gangly limbed tomboy, always covered in dirt and climbing in trees; to a breathtaking young woman filled with a quiet solemnity that is both alluring and heart wrenching.

Your eyes are lined dark, causing them to stand out even more than usual, making it near impossible for him to take his eyes off you. The freckles from your childhood have started to come back, spattering across your cheeks and shoulders.

Joel takes this all in during the briefest of pauses, your front facing eyes leading him to hope you didn’t notice. Joel clears his head before sitting next to you, groaning a bit when he sinks into the low couch.

“Sorry kiddo, I know I’m a bit late”, he says, rubbing his beard in his anxious habit. You still haven't said a word to him, and he gets the impression that he might need to do a bit of damage control. Birthday’s have always been important to you, no matter how much you’ve tried to pretend they aren’t. Your noncommittal response confirms his suspicions.

He turns slightly to face you, the sight of you even closer makes his jaw tick. “You look nice… This for your birthday or just for me?”

You finally turn to face him, and he holds his breath for the briefest moments when your eyes meet his. They really are hypnotising like this. You roll her eyes at his remark, reminding him of the kid he used to know, and he’s grateful for the temporary clarity, “It’s for me actually” you say, eyes looking from his quickly, “but thanks. It’s my birthday so I thought why not”.

He smiles at your shyness, you never were good with compliments. He lifts his beer up towards you, nodding his head in cheers. You reciprocate, and when you take a swig he can’t help but watch. Joel kicks himself for the moment of weakness, and leans his head back against the couch.

“Today was hell… but I’m lookin’ forward to that chicken parm you promised me” he says with a smile. “And I may ‘ave brought you a little somethin’ too…” he says, opening his eyes to glance over at you. You’ve always loved surprises, and the light that enters your face at the suggestion makes the stress of the day run off like summer rain.

“Oh? For me?? Why Joel you shouldn’t have” you say with an over dramatic flair, batting your lashes and placing a hand to your heart in mock surprise. Grinning you stand up quickly, his eyes following your movements, remembering when he was able to stand up that easily. Your hands move to tug down your top as your pants dip low to expose the top of lacey white panties. On top of it all your jeans hug your ass in a way that makes him feel disgusting for even noticing.

You’re almost halfway to the kitchen by the time he catches up, just in time to see you searching for whatever it is he brought. “Hey, I didn’t say I’d give it to you yet. You’ll have to wait” he says, crossing his arms over his chest. You roll your eyes and huff a melodramatic sigh, but concede.

Moments like this remind him of countless memories shared with you over the years. The same kind of memories that cause bile rise in his throat when he notices the fit of your pants, or the freckles on your shoulders. If he was smarter he would put a little distance between the two of you. The tangle of thoughts that constantly threaten to break through when he’s with you scares the hell out of him.

But that would be selfish of him. He knows you’ve been struggling. He can see it in the cracks of your facade, can see the hurt carefully hidden behind your eyes. He noticed the thinness to your frame when he first hugged you the day you came back. The dull look to your usually bright eyes, the slight inward curve of your shoulders indicating some unspoken weight. It hasn’t escaped his notice that you drink beer more now than he can remember when you used to visit home, but he reminds himself that it’s none of his business. He tries not to look too closely at all of it but he cares about you. He loves you as if you were his own. He can’t push you away because his own thoughts are muddled. It’s a problem he has to face on his own, he won’t isolate you further because he can’t keep himself in check.

“I’m gonna go hop in the shower real quick,” he says over his shoulder, heading up stairs before he can hear your response. He walks to his bedroom, sitting on his bed to untie his work boots. He sits like that a moment, arms braced on his jean clad legs. He’s got to get a hold of himself. He can’t keep having these slip ups, brief moments where he sees you as something other than who you are — the daughter of his best friend. Are you beautiful? Of course, any man with eyes can see that. But you have more than that; you’re intelligent, witty, down-to-earth, creative, thoughtful. Any man would be lucky to have you, which makes Joel wonder how things have gone so wrong with that boyfriend of yours. Clearly the guy’s an idiot, and you deserve better. The thought of the son’ve bitch has Joel’s hand clenched in a fist.

He’s not entirely sure what’s happened between the two of you, not wanting to pry, and you have been purposefully vague on the subject – but the thought that this kid has may have caused you unhappiness makes him feel a fierce sense of protectiveness. No matter how conflicting things may get in Joel’s head, that fact will never change.

He flexes his hand, releasing the tension that has wound up in his arms and shoulders. He stands and walks into his bathroom, pulling the belt from his jeans and stripping from his dirty work clothes. He makes the shower quick, not wanting to keep you waiting any more than he already has. He manages to time things perfectly, because by the time he’s coming down the stairs, you’ve got everything ready.

Dinner is the usual affair of delicious food and good company. Joel had gotten used to eating on his own, even before Sarah moved out she more often than not she was either out with friends or he was coming home so late from work that she had already eaten – having to warm up his portion from its home in the fridge. He had never minded it, but it’s been a welcome change having you as company.

Joel’s never been an overly talkative person, so although it shouldn’t be, it’s surprising to him how easily the two of you coexist. During the natural lulls of conversation, you sit in comfortable silence; a stark difference from dinners with Sarah who would talk for the both of them.

Plate practically licked clean, Joel leans back in his chair, looking across the table at you as you finish the last few bites. Some more strands of hair have fallen around your face, and you brush them away with your free hand. The brown gloss that you’d had on earlier is gone now, leaving just the natural cool pink flush of your lips.

As beautiful as you look done up like this, he can’t help but think your bare face suits you more. Maybe because it’s familiar to him, it’s easier to see the girl behind the woman. It offers the same reprieve as reverting to your old childhood nicknames, putting that distance between you again; needing the familiar comfort of “kiddo” or “kid” to keep him grounded. Because there are whispers of moments where he almost forgets. Almost.

You must feel him looking, because your kohl lined eyes meet his, brow lifted in question. He holds your gaze, a small smile lifting the corner of his mouth, before he stands quickly, “Close your eyes”. You look at him, a slightly startled look on your face, her cheeks turning a light pink, “Why?”. Always gotta question everything, “Girl, just do it”. Your cheeks flush a darker shade of pink, but you comply, face cracking into a nervous smile. Joel waves his hand in front of your face to make sure you’re not peaking before going to grab the cake.

He sets the cake on the counter in front of him, a small smile coming to his lips. He’s glad he was able to find the perfect cake. Something simple and yet so distinctly you. He pulls out a small green candle and sets it right in the middle. He heads back to the dining room, and walking up behind you, he gently places the cake down. He leans over your shoulder, seeing your eyes still dutifully closed, “Alright, open up” he says softly.

He walks back around to sit down, avoiding looking at your reaction. He’s nervous. You’re turning 28 not 18, you could be too old for all this. You thank him for the cake and the emotion in your voice causes him to finally look up, and what he sees shatters his heart into tiny pieces.

The image of your smiling face he’d conjured up earlier has come to life before him and it takes his breath away. The corners of his lips lift, mirroring your own, and he feels a weight leave his chest. But his smile falls slightly when a single tear falls down your cheek. You wipe it away as soon as it falls, averting your gaze, clearly embarrassed. Without a moment's hesitation he’s reaching out, taking your hand in his, “Hey, hey, you ‘lright kiddo?”

“Yeah, yeah I’m sorry. I’m fine this is just… really nice is all. Sorry, I’m just bein’ stupid”, you’re looking everywhere but at him, and he hates seeing you ashamed of your emotions. He wonders who made you feel like you had to hide them away.

“Hey, don’t talk about yourself like that, darlin’. You ain’t bothern’ me at all, I just hate seein’ you cry.” He squeezes your hand, and finally your eyes lift to meet his. “You’ve seemed to be doin’ better lately, but I remembered you always enjoyed you’re birthday’s growin’ up and I know how easy it is to forget all that as you get older. But gettin’ older doesn’t mean you have to stop carin’ about the things you used to”.

You nod at his words, eyes lingering on his hand around yours, “Yeah, I know. I just can’t remember the last time I had a nice birthday, if I’m being honest. So this is just… it’s nice”. That makes his jaw tick. Some ugly emotion like anger twisting in his gut. You have a boyfriend back in Boston; one you live with and have been with for years, yet a simple cake is enough to have you in tears? He finds himself gripping his thigh beneath the table, and he wants more than anything to tell you how much you deserve so much better than that. That you deserve to be with a man who appreciates you, who is willing to make each day better than the next. A man who will give you the world. But he swallows down all of that, reminding himself it’s not his place.

He squeezes your hand once more before getting up, going to grab his favorite whiskey from its place. He can feel your eyes following his movements, and the look of relief on your face when he returns with the bottle is a welcome sight. You suggest watching a movie, and he concedes. The two of you go to rest on the couch, and he pours glasses for you both. You both take a swig, and the familiar burn of whiskey in his throat is welcome. Your features twist and your voice comes out choked, “Mmm delicious”.

“Hey this is the good shit, thank you. Chase it with some cake” he chuckles defensively, and he watches as you pick up your slice of cake, taking a bite. The look of surprise that comes across your face at the combination of flavors has him feeling smug, “Told you, whiskey and cake ‘re good together”.

“Alright old man, I won’t question your wisdom again”. Joel leans back into the couch, and you follow suit, curling into his side. The feeling of your body next to his has him finishing his whiskey, ready to pour another. He’s used to sitting like this with Sarah, and at this moment he is distinctly aware that you are not his daughter. But you seem comfortable and unbothered by the closeness, so he doesn’t react when you tuck your feet beneath his leg, leaning into him as you get comfortable. He lets out a breath, allowing himself to relax into you, this is fine.

He picks up the remote, and flips through countless movies before one finally catches your eye, what looks to be some chick flick. He looks over at you, but your expression tells him there is no changing your mind. The movie begins, and he resigns himself to a movie that will likely result in him falling asleep.

He doesn’t expect the movie to actually be, well, good. It’s more than good if he’s being honest, but he chooses to blame his investment on the unknown amount of whiskey he has had at this point. He can’t help his commentary throughout the film, the whiskey has loosened his tongue and these women keep making idiotic choices. He’s so caught up in their antics that he almost is able to forget about the warm body pressed into his side. At some point he put his arm on the back of the couch, his hand now resting on your shoulder, wisps of your hair brushing against his wrist.

The warmth of the whiskey is in his bloodstream now, and the heavy weight of his eyelids has him realizing he probably shouldn’t have another glass. He didn’t mean for y’all to drink this much, but he felt like you could use the relaxation and honestly so could he. He can’t remember the last time he allowed himself to have more than two or three glasses, and the fire in his stomach is soothing.

Joel is pulled from the movie, when he feels your eyes on him. He had felt it a few times before, but was distracted enough to not notice. But this time the tingle on the back of his neck of being watched hasn’t gone away, and he finally looks over at you. Your eyelids are low, thick lashes almost hiding them, your bottom lip is tucked between your teeth.

The scene changes, lighting up your features, and he can see the flush that is blooming across your cheeks and neck. It reminds him of the night you came home after your graduation, drunk and giggly, caught red handed in the kitchen. It’s then he remembers what you had said to him that night, all those years ago, something about you finding him handsome. He hadn’t thought much of it then, the drunk babblings of a teenager. You’d still been a kid then, and the memory makes his whiskey-addled brain realize how different you look now. He has to look — really look — to see that girl before him. But in his current state, he doesn’t necessarily want to.

His senses are dulled, his control slackened, so just this once, he lets himself see the woman next to him. He breaks the silence, you both having lost interest in the film, his voice comes out hushed, rougher than he means for it to be, “You know it’s rude to stare”.

You don’t respond, you just keep looking at him, your eyes searching for something. Your tongue flicks out to wet your lips, and it draws his eyes. He watches, swallowing, his mouth suddenly dry. His eyes move slowly back up your face, and when they meet yours, suddenly you’re unrecognizable.

You’re not Sarah’s friend, you’re not Daniel’s daughter — no, you’re a woman.

A breathtaking, undoubtedly sexy woman, sitting tucked into his side, staring at him in a way he hasn’t been looked at in years.

So when you start closing the distance between the two of you, Joel doesn’t move. He doesn’t even breathe. This moment isn’t real, it can’t be. He must have fallen asleep during the movie, and the alcohol in his system is causing him to have the most hyperrealistic dream he’s ever had. His eyes watch as you move closer, roaming your face, falling to your perfect pout.

When your lips brush against his, his eyes fall closed, and for a moment, he falls. Into this moment, into this fantasy. His hands ache to move, to touch you; the arm draped around ghosts against the skin of your neck. Your lips are sweet, tasting of cake and whiskey, it’s intoxicating and he doesn’t want to wake up.

Joel’s lungs burn, unintentionally holding his breath, like deep down his body knows this is real, that he’s letting himself drown. Lungs burning and lips against yours he finally breathes you in and the familiar scent of you pulls him painfully back into reality. All at once it comes crashing back to him, and he can’t control the way his body reacts. One moment his lips are on yours, and the next he’s on the other side of the couch, as much distance as he can put between the two of you.

What the fuck. What the fuck. What the actual fuck was that. Jesus fucking christ Joel, Fuck– Joel’s mind is a mess of spiraling thoughts and he puts his head in his hands. He rubs at his face, his mouth, trying to undo whatever just happened. His heart is beating out of his chest, and his blood runs cold. We’re drunk, I’m drunk. Too much whiskey, that’s it, yeah. It’s just– I just fucked up that’s all, forgot where I was– who I was with, it ain’t nothin’. Yeah, it’s nothing at all, fuck she has to know that, I didn’t mean– But why? She kissed me, why– why would she do that? Did I–

Joel is too distracted to notice you stand abruptly, it isn’t until your voice pierces through the maelstrom of his thoughts that he realizes what you’re saying. You’re babbling, panicking, breath coming in short huffs, talking about leaving, driving home. His mind clears for a moment, his protective nature taking over, and he gets a hold of himself to grab ahold of your wrist as you move to leave.

“Hey, hey it’s- it’s okay”, he stands, his vision moving in slow motion. He can’t look you in the eyes, so he just keeps his hand on your wrist, the other on your shoulder, but enough distance between the two of you that it feels safe. “Hey, look at me, you can’t drive home like this. You’ve had a lot to drink tonight, just- just take Sarah’s room”.

You don’t seem to hear him, your eyes looking everywhere but at him, chest heaving, “Look at me, I ain’t mad. ‘M not upset, we both just… had a lot okay. It’s alright, I promise. Just… please stay here for the night”. He’s not sure how much of his words he’s saying to you and how much is to himself. Everything is alright. You both just had a lot to drink. He just had a lot to drink. That’s the only reason this happened. The only reason you kissed him. The only reason he let you. Yes, it’s alright. You both just need to sleep it off and everything will be okay.

You finally concede, walking quickly down the hall to Sarah’s room, disappearing behind her door, leaving Joel at the scene of the crime. His legs feel like lead, his head is spinning, and his stomach is in knots and he wishes to god it was from the alcohol. He closes his eyes, taking a few deep breaths, steadying himself. Desperately scrambling within his mind to lock everything that had escaped back into their carefully crafted cells. That’s all this was, a slip up, nothing more. He lost control for a single moment and this is what happens. This is why he keeps everything locked up.

He opens his eyes, and just like that he’s on autopilot — body moving without him. Everything tucked away neatly within himself. Joel Miller the immovable object.

Clean up. Drink water. Take Ibuprofen for hangover. Walk to bedroom. Brush teeth. Change clothes. Get in bed. Lie down. Close eyes. Go to sleep. And don’t think. Don’t think about what just happened. Don’t think about the woman down the hall. Don’t think about her body pressed into yours. Don’t think about the taste of her. Don’t think about the smell of her. Don’t think about the softness of her lips. Don’t think. Don’t think. Don’t think.

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directdogman · 2 days ago

Note

May be a bit strange to ask, but where did the idea for the dlc come from?

There were a lot of cut basegame route ideas and a way to let my brain process not adding them to the game was to say "if the game does well, I GUESS I could do DLCs one day."

Roger's route was one notable example. I wrote Roger + Peter's basegame scene and felt a hunger to show more of the factory off, build on the plotline I'd written just for that scene. Given how much I had on my plate with the basegame already, I decided it was an idea to potentially revisit after release, y'know, if people were interested in seeing more.

There was also another cut route involving the head of the Mob (which made it the closest of the cut routes to being a basegame route, only being cut before Oliver's route began production), a Jerry route idea, a Fusco route idea... Olandy was also one of these ideas.

The idea originally stemmed from an idea for a joke ending. Randy's route is kind of a relic in that it's structured differently from the other routes. Not only does Randy's route allow you to continue exploring the town AFTER agreeing to meet him, but there's also a day 2 free roam segment where you search for him. Originally, all of the routes were going to have a day 2 with new stuff to see, before I realized I was essentially planning to add a bunch of content that would've just padded the routes out at best, wasted time with content nobody would see at worst (how many people are aware God currently has a 10k word scene on day 2 of Randy's route, after all?)

Anyway, Olandy started off as a funny idea. In most cases, there's a simple failsafe that prevents you from double dating. The option to ask Karen out and visit Bigfoot simply get disabled as options. However, since Oliver asks YOU out the moment he sees you (if you play with a phone head), I added a different failsafe that stops this happening if you've already told Randy you're going to meet him, where he essentially gives you the Typewriter greeting instead if it's your first time meeting him.

Briefly, I considered adding a side ending where you could have Oliver ask you out as normal after agreeing to meet Randy, then arrive with Oliver, only for Randy to already be there. This would've been an awkward encounter to say the least. But, the more I thought about it, the more likely I found it that Randy would begrudgingly agree to enter with both you and Oliver since both characters already know each other and Randy's already ditched work for you.

From there, I began wondering what a Randy + Oliver route would look like and gradually warmed up to the idea, to the point where I genuinely considered adding the route to the basegame for a time. When the game came out and people started shipping them, I figured it was worth revisiting the ideas I already wanted to do.

The only DLC ideas that weren't ever considered as basegame routes involves one with a character I hadn't come up with and the final idea on the list, which is something else entirely.

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ohmotherwhereartthou-if · 2 days ago

Text

...Would you guys like a dog?

Hello,

Very random post from an inactive author I know. (Well, inactive in posting ask's I mean; I have been working on the story a lot in recent days. and we are projected to reach 100k by next update. Yeah. Wasn't kidding, grief does wonders for my productivity as you will soon see why.)

But um, to put it simply—I am distraught.

In recent weeks my beloved childhood dog, Kiba, has had numerous visits to the vet due to a constant bleeding and a growth forming in his mouth. We were told it is cancer and that it has reached his jaw bone, this was all very sudden and we had no clue until it was way too late to save him.

I just said goodbye to him right now, I don't have the heart to see him fully go; so thankfully my parents were willing to take him for me to the animal hospital one last time to put him to sleep.

He was my first dog and has been with me from elementary all the way to college, I am happy I got this much time with him but it just hurts really bad to say goodbye.

But trauma dumping aside, I don't know if everyone knows this but this story was made because of the passing of my Uncle Chris; he was my dad's best friend that I considered family and was extremely close to. When he died my little sister Brianna passed a week later, the grief I felt led me to writing this story and finding catharsis in the hellish cycle of creative writing.

I love this story and writing it brings me a lot of healing, I always find ways to reference and honor my loved ones in it's world building and it is extremely likely I will find a way to channel my grief for Kiba into this story too.

So before I go off and make big changes, I wanted to include you all. Would you like MC to have a dog themselves or have traveler own the dog? Because I am immortalizing Kiba one way or another tbh (sorry if that comes off rude, I am just hurting a lot right now).

I was originally going to have MC pick up the dog as a stray and nurse it back to health under June's guidance (don't you love parallels?). But I kind of see a potential plot hole if your MC choses to see Sombra as competition for June's affection (although I could explain that it's different because Sombra is June's animal and this dog would be MC's); I also don't want to force too much of a self insert on you guys. So I want to give you guys the choice before I just went ahead with my plan B.

The other idea I was going to go with is just have Traveler own the dog, MC camps and travels with her often enough in the story that I could write for the dog to be present along side you both as you travel while keep the interactions controlled and limited. I am partial to this idea but I wanted your guy's opinion.

And yeah this is a one day poll because I need to write ASAP, for my own sake. Thank you all for your input and understanding, I am sorry for the depressing post.

I hope everyone else is doing better than I currently am right now, literally crying as I type this lol. I just want to leave this collage of my good boy on this post as well, just to mark this date of his passing on this blog and honor him.

Good God, I am going to miss him.

#omwat #fuck this is so depressing #please excuse me as I blast wolf's rain music and cry #since that is where I got his name from #love and cherish your pets #i might delete this later #or edit out all my depressing shit

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sdmnpact · 1 day ago

Text

I Can't Stand You.

George Clarke x Reader smut

** MDNI 18+**

[] enemies to lovers type deal

~~~

The cold London air hit your skin sending a shiver down your spine. You regret not bringing a jacket but if you did bring a jacket you wouldn't be able to show off your beautiful dress.

The strappy thing that hugged you in all the right places. Regardless of how you felt that day, this dress was like magic and made you look amazing. Eyes lingered on you all night, admiring how insanely stunning you looked. This certainly helped with the night you've had.

You were standing outside of the still quite crowded pub waiting for your Uber. It's been a night and you were tired. Liv who you had originally planned on having a girls night with brought along Bach who brought along Arthur who brought Hill, Chris, and George.

George Clarke. You hated the man. His cocky attitude, the arrogance he portrays, the little quips he makes at your expense. You don't know if you ever did something to him to make him dislike you but now you despise eachother.

You told Liv this and she told Bach who completely ignored this and gave him the green light to come. You love Bach but his forgetfulness is not your favorite thing sbout him.

Although you tried to have a good night despite George's loud presence, you still ended up as the butt of his jokes. Drink after drink didn't help either. Drinking wasn't enough, you couldn't stand it anymore and decided to leave early.

You thought about George's mannerisms for quite a while as you stood there. When he gets drunk with others, he gets quiet and calm but when you're there, it's like he becomes a different person, getting rowdier by the second.

The sound of the doors opening pulled you out of your thoughts. You turned around to see the blue eyed, curly headed jerk. You turned back towards the street rolling your eyes, letting out a deep sigh.

"Hey Y/n? Going home already? Was the dress too tight for you?" He replied, eyeing your body. You scoffed, brushing off his comment. "Im just tired." You lied, the annoyance evident in your voice.

"You know, you're ruining the night." He said. His voice deep as he took a step closer to you. "Im ruining the night? You've been acting like a dickhead this entire time!" You exclaimed, biting your tongue at your words. You never meant to tell him how much of a jerk he is but your words just slipped out.

"Im not a dickhead, if anything, it's you! You're always in such bad spirits, you never want to have fun, you keep to yourself!"

"Maybe it's because everytime I speak, you make a joke out of it, out of me! Everything I say or do! You should see when you're not around, how much fun I have. It's you! You're the reason I have no fun!" You exclaimed, turning towards him, getting in his face. The tension between you rising as he took another step closer to you.

"Well maybe I can't help it! Maybe it's you! Always saying the weirdest things, always being your goofy self! Maybe if you stopped being so cringe I would stop." Your jaw clenched at his words. Your face red with anger.

"How is that my problem!? No one even invited you here, you just come along whenever we go out always ruining the mood." You responded.

"Someone needs to be the fun one in the group." He scoffed.

"You're always such a jerk, I don't even know why!" You exclaimed.

"Have you ever thought it's because I like you?" Your eyes went wide, your heart beating faster, the anger softening as you tried to comprehend what he actually said.

"You like me?" Your voice quivered, unsure if he was serious or if this was just another rouse.

"Yes Y/n, I fucking like you, you fucking bitch. I like how weird you are, I like how funny and cute you are. You always look hot as fuck. You know how hard it is not being able to grab you and kiss you!?" He said, his words filled with annoyance as if it bothered him, telling you this.

"Well, well- well being a dickhead wasn't the way to go about these things!" You stuttered, trying to focus on his attitude towards you rather than the sudden confession he was making.

"I know! But you know how shit I am with girls, how the hell was I suppose to tell you?" He admitted.

"I dont know, maybe just talking! Telling me nicely instead of making fun of me every five seconds!" You spewed, ready to be done with this conversation. His words clouded your thoughts, making you smile at his true feelings towards you. You quickly pulled yourself out of it, checking your phone to see your Uber still 2 minutes out.

"Okay, listen, I'm sorry. I still don't know why I said those things, I don't know why I act this way!" He pleaded, his eyes resembling those of puppies. You almost melted at the sight but held your ground.

"I dont want to hear it, George, just leave me alone." He got closer to your face once again only this time, he was inches from your lips.

"Can I make this up to you?" His voice was deep and raspy, making you shiver at his change of tone. He finger trailed up your arm to your shoulder, brushing some hair back. His eyes glimmered under the light, a dark intensity to them as his breathing slowed down.

"I can't stand you." You said, your voice low and frail, trying to keep yourself under control. He chuckled, before cupping your cheeks and bringing you closer, closing the gap between you. His soft lips moving against yours. The friction between you, now the same drive making you pull at his shirt, grabbing him tightly, wanting more of him. His hand, snaking around your waist, trailing towards your backside. Grabbing your ass, trying to feel every inch of you. You smiled into the kiss, letting his tongue in.

The kiss now a makeout session filled with desire and lust coming to an abrupt end as a car pulled up in front of you. The driver lowered his windows, asking your name. You confirmed and looked towards George, nodding towards the car. "Wanna go to mine?" You asked, pulling on the hem of his shirt.

He immediately followed your lead into the silver Toyota. The driver started his way towards your flat. You looked over to George to see his eyes already on you. His hand on your knee slowly inching towards your inner thigh. His fingers slowly trailed closer to your heat. Your short dress giving him plenty of access to you.

Your breath hitched as his fingers brushed across your heat slowly through your panties. Your focus on his face as he stared at you, hunger in his eyes. You grabbed his hand, pulling away but he insisted. He teased you all the way towards your flat. His fingers running circles around your throbbing heat through the fabric, making your legs feel weak.

You hoped the driver didn't notice but you couldn't focus on anything but George. As you pulled up to the building, George quickly removed his hand, reaching for the door.

He wanted you as bad as you wanted him and couldn't wait any longer.

He quickly pulled you out of the car, thanking the driver for the ride. His hand gripped yours tightly as you made your way in. Every second of the lift ride feeling like torture. His hand never leaving yours, his foot impatiently tapping as if he's been waiting for hours.

He desperately wanted to grabbed your face and shove his tongue down your throat but restrained himself until you got to your flat.

The second you unlocked the door, George pushed you in, slamming the door behind him. His hands cupped your cheeks once again, this time with more force. His lips slammed onto yours, you were taken aback at first but quickly melted into the kiss. You grabbed his shirt, desperately wishing it was off. He smirked at you, quickly breaking the kiss to pull it off revealing his sculpted figure.

He picked you up and took you towards the couch, throwing you on it roughly. He got on his knees in front of you, pushing your legs open making your dress roll up. "Take it off." He growled as you quickly slipped off your dress leaving you in your panties and pasties. You peeled them off leaving your breast exposed as he slowly pulled off your underwear.

He gave you no time to adjust become his tongue made it's way to your heat. You jumped at the feeling, his warm tongue trailing across your lips. His eyes looking up at you as you leaned back, feeling the ecstasy of his touch immediately.

He smirked to himself before he continued, slipping his tongue between your folds, gently sucking at them. You released a loud moan at the sensation, reaching for his hair, pulling at his curly locks, wanting him fully inside you.

His tongue swirled around your pulsating heat, your creamy juices already starting to puddle around his face as you couldn't stop yourself.

The sound of him sucking and slurping at you only made you hungrier for him. His hands gripping at your thighs, pulling himself in deeper as you continued to suffocate him between your legs, the pleasure welling up in your stomach. The racing of your heart and flutter in your stomach making you feel overwhelmed. Unable to hold yourself back, you released more of yourself into his mouth.

His motions only getting rougher and faster by the second as you squeezed your eyes closed struggling to keep yourself together at the intense feeling. "George." You breathed out quickly, reaching for his wrist, squeezing it tightly. Grunts and moans came from your mouth as you reached climax as his tongue flicked against your g spot.

Your back arched as he slowed his pace, his tongue finishing it's job, cleaning you up.

He pulled away from your sweaty body, his lips glistening with your juices all over them. You struggled to catch your breath as you laid back, watching him removed his pants. "I hope you can still take my dick." He chuckled seeing your clit red and pulsating. He pulled them off followed but his briefs leaving his fully erect penis exposed for you to gawk at.

He came closer, grabbing his member, rubbing it slowly in front of you. "Can you handle this?" His voice softening at the sight of you exasperated by the intense pressure of being eaten out. You looked up at him, licking your lips only making him harder for you. You slowly nodded your head, bringing a smile to his lips.

He carefully held your legs open with one hand as the other guided his member into your throbbing heat. Slowly, he inserted himself into you making you shudder at the feeling of his thick, veiny cock entering your tight hole.

His eyes never leaving yours, as he slowly pushed himself in deeper, you winced at the pressure making him stop. "Are you sure?" He asked.

You put your hands on his shoulders bringing him closer to your face. "Yes." You replied back softly. After hearing your words, he rammed into as softly as he could. Your hands on his back as he began thrusting in and out.

Your fingers dug into his skin as he held your hips, your sopping heat closing in around his member as he continued thrusting. His grunts filled the room as your soft moans matched.

Slowly he built up speed, gripping your hips tighter, digging his nails into your thighs. You gripped at his back as the intense pressure of pleasure came back. Your soft moans turning into loud screams as he quickened his pace. The beautiful sound of skin slapping together becoming louder. The beads of sweat running down both of your faces as your bodies became hot and tired.

His hips moving against yours rhythmically as if you were two puzzle pieces fitting together perfectly. Your legs trembled, feeling yourself reach your high as he was close himself.

Pumping in and out of you a few more times, his movements now sloppy as you released yourself over his member. George following suit seconds later. His thrusting coming to an abrupt stop as he released inside of you.

He stayed inside you for a couple seconds trying to regain his breath as you did the same. He pulled back to look at you. The sweat making his hair soaking wet making him look ridiculously handsome. His blue eyes, now tired but still looking into yours lovingly.

He looked at you, admiring your beautiful state. Sweaty and tired, you still looked incredible to him. He couldn't believe he could finally see you like this, finally be able to make you happy and satisfy you.

He pulled out, leaving you missing his touch. You closed your legs, still breathing heavily as he took a seat beside you. The sound of panting filling the room as he reached for your hand, rubbing circles into the top of it.

"Does this makeup for it?" He asked turning to look towards you. You quickly snapped your hands back.

"I'll think you owe me much more." You replied teasingly.

"I mean I'll eat you out everyday if I have to." He responded, a cocky little smile on his face.

"Hmm, I'll think about it."

~~~

Taglist ♡ @pretendyoucantseeme @whisperturnedecho @sundarksposts @needf0rspeed @jakevwebber

#george clarke #george clarkey #george clarke x reader #george clarkey x reader #george clarke imagine #george clarke fics #george clarke smut #fanfic #ukyt fanfic #ukyt x reader #ukyt smut #british youtubers #sdmnpact

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typewritingyip · 1 day ago

Text

The Arcturus Missions

Part Fifty Three - Shuttles

Part Fifty-Two

———

Space shuttles are a partially reusable spacecraft system, operated by NASA as part of the aptly named Space Shuttle program. It’s official name was the Space Transportation System, with higher hopes than were achieved in the program as a whole.

The original plans were crafted in 1969, with the first operations of the program taking place in 1981, around three years before the Quintesson invasion.

In its initial rendition, the Enterprise, was built in 1976 and was used in multiple approach and landing tests though did not have space fairing or orbiting capabilities. Several other operational operations were designed and built after the Enterprise, Columbia, Challenger, Discovery, Atlantis, and Endeavour.

Along with the three for the Arcturus Missions; Odyssey, Iliad, and Aeneid.

The Endeavour was built in replacement for the Challenger after its disaster in 1986.

All shuttles maintained the same to similar designs over the course of the program, even after the disasters of Challenger and Columbia which both deemed preventable tragedies. Through NASA’s own hubris, did those space shuttles and their crews suffer.

Typical criticism laid with the overall cost of the program, the misunderstood need for the shuttles themselves, and eventually a lack in trust after the 1986 disaster and the 2003 disaster.

It became eminent that the space shuttle program would end, whether with Atlantis or with the Arcturus crews.

—

Hitting the sand was always his least favorite part of fighting on planets like these. Tangled in a Quintesson’s tentacles, he pulled hard against it’s hold and grit his teeth. Spilling green over the sand and his suit, Hound kept hold of the thrashing Quintesson, even as one of it’s balled tentacles slammed into his head.

He could smell the mat, his ears ringing from the impact and he blinked against it slowly, groaning as he brought himself to his knees. Spitting blood out of his mouth, he drew in a sharp breath, “Damnit.”

Boxing training was necessary for a number of reasons, but mostly because it kept his dad sane after losing mom. Looking up at his dad, he stood and shook out his hands, “Alright,” The smile on his dad’s face was pained, both thrilled they could do this together and pained that he’d just handed Harold’s ass to himself.

Nodding a bit, he brought his hands back up, just shy of being able to smell the gloves, “Dad, I’m thinking of enlisting.” His voice didn’t waver, even when they began to circle, but the pain on his fathers face spoke volumes.

”H, we’ve been over this dude. I have done everything to give you every advantage that I could, your mother did the same. There’s enough money set aside for you to go to trade school, become a welder. The world needs welders.” But he was already shaking his head.

”Dad, no. There is no point in that, if I am going to work for a mech suit program then I want to be a pilot, not someone slapping the metal together and I will need money for when this war is over if I want to help regrow everything.” The smile on his dads face was genuine then, “Agriculture or environmental sciences?”

Smiling a bit, Hound shrugged, “The world will need a lot of help, everything from studying botany to its practical application in agriculture. I’ll get the GI bill to pay for it and have seen so much of the country by then, come on Dad. We both knew this was coming, I’ve gotten in too many fights to just become a welder.” His dad nodded and moved forward, trying to catch him in a headlock.

Ducking under it, Hound turned and stared at the bloodied sand, heaving for breath while his comm crackled. Groaning, he turned, scanning the area and ducking another blow from one of the remaining Quintessons. It had been roughly five left just a minute ago, now there were two and one was already missing several limbs.

He hated the moments like that, where he still was acting on what he couldn’t see, but it had become so commonplace. Even as his implants healed and dried up, as his body built back the muscle it had tried to eat up and his vision became crystal clear again. There would always be lingering signs of his crash, of the regular overuse. They all dealt with different aspects of it still, it’s just how it was for them here.

It’s how it would be for the others.

His heart sank a bit.

Grabbing hold of the Quintesson, he whipped it around and slammed it into the ground before pivoting to the dying one. Slamming head first into it, the blunt force trauma pushed it over the edge.

Taking slow breaths, he looked around before activating his comms, “Quintesson ship clear, not cleared. Marking it, moving onto the secondary crash site.” Their murmurs of distant comms chatter was a bit unsettling as he jogged back up the sand dune, glancing towards the ridge and just making out Mirage before waving briefly.

Sighing, he nodded and checked the direction before starting that way at a run, “Alright Raj’, I’m going to be out of range. I can’t hear the recovery team so you likely won’t be able to hear me.” His voice almost wavered, but he kept going and the static between them got denser, “I’ve got your back Hound, I’ll start moving that way.”

Already shaking his head, Hound sighed, “No, keep cover on the town, we don’t know if there are more Quintessons in the area yet. Though make sure everyone knows where the Quint ship crashed.” Mirage hummed, “You got it.” Nodding again, Hound sighed and kept going.

There were no signs of the crashed ship yet.

Slowly, the comm line died out and he switched to the recovery team's comm line, “Recovery team, do you copy?” There was a light burst of static before a few murmurs carried through. Sighing, he kept going that way, checking the location briefly.

Slamming into the sand as something shrieked in his ear was not what he’d call a fun experience though, turning over he plants his foot into its chest, trying to put some distance between them. A shot just fizzled past it’s head and Hound buried the muzzle of his gun into it’s jaw and fired twice.

Green splatted over him as it’s weight dropped down, kicking it away, he rolled the opposite way and sat on his knees for a long moment, “Fuck,” he took a slow breath, dragging a hand down his face, “This is why you’re not supposed to go anywhere alone, damnit.” Pushing off the ground, he kept walking.

Trying to tune his comms to pick up the recovery team, still only getting static with murmuring.

—

Ironhide was shouting in his ear while he was wrestling in the sand with a Quintesson. The farther out into space they got, the bigger these things were, he swore. Some of them were starting to reach the size of the scouts on Earth, the ones who’d tower over him and buildings.

Slow and stupid, maybe, but they packed more of a punch. There usually weren’t this many when they were this big though.

Digging the bracer into the flesh of the Quintesson, Sunny growled, “Ironhide, I am a little busy at the moment!” A shot knocks the Quint off him and another ends its life, sighing, he lays back against the sand for a second, “Alright, what?” There was a beat, “We need you on the east side of town, we’ve got incoming and a lot of it.”

Swearing, he pushes of the ground and moves that way at a run, switching to the pilots comm line, “Hey, is anyone nearby for assistance?” There was a light burst of static before Bluestreak came over.

“Uh, that’s complicated. Breakdown and one of the new folks are on the recovery team, Hound went to the Qunit crash site and is busy. Your brother is on Guard duty, Jazz is moving towards the Quint crash site with a few others. So nearby, not really, unless you count the other red one who is killing Quintessons like a maniac.”

There was a cackle, “That would be me Sunny! Have you ever seen so many of these freaks in one place?” Honestly, he really wanted to slam his head into a wall, “Yes, Yes, Roddy I have. Why didn’t you answer when I asked?” He laughed again, “At that moment, I was trying to tear a Kaiju in half like I saw Hound do.”

His eye roll was almost painful, “Roddy, this isn’t the best time to be fucking around.” He sighed, “Deadlock told me that too and said to go handle the enemy while he was being detained. He’s over there with the metal band and Ratchet, listening to them both scream at each other.”

Yeah, his eye rolls were getting more painful by the second.

“Alright then, I need you to come over here and help with this batch of Quints.” Hot Rod hummed, “On my way, also, are we talking about kaiju still?” He paused, it had been so long since he had called a Quintesson a kaiju, but they’d hardly know the difference, even with Perceptors translator for Deadlock.

Nodding slowly, he slows in one of the many alleyways, “Right, yes. We are, uh, the kaiju we fought on Earth are actually a species called Quintesson’s whose goal is to take over the universe. To steal resources and enslave the powerful. At least, that’s what we think.” Bluestreak mumbled the word kaiju, like it offended him.

Sunny couldn’t help the smile, taking a breath as he pivoted around the corner and charged at the enemy.

Slamming into them had gotten easier with time, on Earth it had been much more of a dance but the solvents available to them here ensured their safety in and out of the suit after getting covered in blood.

That and he had listened to Hound’s old hunters training, it made a lot of this part easier.

His bracer dug deep into the side of the Quint, spraying him and the road in green while he wrenched his arm back, he heard gagging as Hot Rod cuts into a nearby one, “Dude, how do you guys do that?” Sunny grunts with effort as he hits the Quintesson again, “Practice, years of practice. And accepting that this stuff is disgusting but cleanable.”

“Oh.” Roddy moved more fluidly, his own door wings blowing out puffs of air and glowing with heat. Sunny had almost forgotten what the pilot's suit had looked like, how familiar it seemed now.

He kept moving though, the pair of them dispatching the few Quintessons who had gathered in this area. Three, down to two quickly and he handled the last one and a half. Half because he had grabbed the tentacles off of Roddy’s and tore them clean off.

Practice made perfect.

Panting, he took in slow and deep breaths, Hot Rod bounced on his heels, “Wow, kid, that was sick.” That would get old again, Bluestreak cleared his throat, “Uh, kid?” Sunny sighed but nodded, “Hot Rod here is a few years older than Sides and I, has a few more years experience on Earth fighting these things. It’s just an old joke.” Blue hummed.

They fell into an awkward silence, just listening to the light static of the commline.

Nodding slowly, Hot Rod stepped back, “Well, I am going to go check on Deadlock,” Bluestreak made a pained noise, “And Ratchet, I’ll, uh, see you in a bit.” And he ran off, like he was trying to outrun the reality around him.

Sunny didn’t blame him one bit.

Sighing, he started back into the city, “You know Blue, I won’t let this Deadlock character hurt you.” Bluestreak chuckled a bit, “It’s less so hurt me and more so killed some good bots I knew.” His heart clenched and he sighed, “I’m sorry darling, I, I didn’t know.”

Blue hummed, “It’s okay, it was a long time ago, plus if Megatron has this guy detained then it might just end in our favor.” He smiled and kept walking, looking around every corner for Quintessons.

The sound hit before the shockwave and he stumbled, catching himself on the building before turning, “The hell was that?” It was quiet after, no shouting or murmurs from either Cybertronian or Quintesson.

His chest ached and he could hardly breathe, “Blue, do you have eyes on whatever that was darling?” Blue was quiet, too quiet before he cleared his throat, “Uh, all I can see is the dust cloud at the moment.” Nodding slowly, he sighs, “Where from?” He knew, deep down he knew.

”Beyond the Quint wreckage, towards the other pilot shuttle. Sunny,” Shaking his head, he sighs, “I’ve gotta go check it out Blue, I can’t hear any of them from this far.” Bluestreak sighed, “Primus, fine, don’t be stupid though.” Nodding again, he pivots and starts that way, moving down the roads of the town.

He could see Sideswipe, standing in front of Elita-One and Optimus Prime, could see Hot Rod standing a bit away, also seemingly on guard now. Saluting loosely, he switched back to the main comm, “I’m going to check out the explosion, keep them safe.”

Sides spoke up, “We don’t even know what it was, there is no reason to leave Sunny.” Sighing and shaking his head, he kept running, “Sides, it came from where Arcee might be, where Hound and Breakdown and Perceptor are. Just, stay here and send Roddy to run the perimeter, please for Christ sake.”

They sat in silence for a moment, “God you sound like mom. Alright, we’ll hold the area and keep Joan safe. Just, go.” Trying to smile, he kept running, the sand sliding under his feet, “I’ll send Hound if it’s an emergency, just keep Deadlock away from the perimeter and Roddy under control,” “Hey!” Disconnecting from the comm, he kept running towards the dust cloud, sighing.

Maybe Hound was right about the whole superstition thing, this seemed pretty bad for just another mission.

—

Landing a shuttle should have been no problem, but the ring around the Iliad was not designed to return to a planet with an atmosphere. Even if they had been able to return to Earth, it would have attached to the ISS or something. They’d never been really filled in on the details.

Clinging to the outside of the descending ship, she was trying her best to unscrew and adjust the ring; if it could fall to the ground in pieces it was more likely their supplies would survive the crash. If it could be disconnected, she could reenter the Iliad and ensure it’s safe landing.

Yanking hard against the connectors on the ring, she swears, “Goddamnit, let go.” It creaks and whines, her altitude monitor starting to blare in her suit as the first locking mechanism breaks and part of the ring sags, “Yes!” One down, three to go before they gave way.

Moving under the ship, the legs of her suit swung uneasily before she was able to magnetize them again, taking slow and deep breaths, “Alright, okay.” Adjusting the bracer on her arm with a flick, she started to hit the next lock.

It broke with a clang and the sleeping pod fell away from the ship, dropping at a slightly faster rate than the rest of the shuttle which was far more aerodynamic.

The rest of the ring swayed as she over back around again.

This was not how Arcee imagined her life to go just a few days ago, floating through space, no, she figured she’d die of boredom or by being thrown out an airlock. Instead, they were falling on a foreign planet that had kaiju on it’s surface along with mecha who were probably the same species as Deadlock.

But this wasn’t his homeworld.

His homeworld was supposedly made of metal and non-organic stuff, the translations weren’t perfect but it came across enough to know that Earth was very different. This just looked like a desert on Earth.

Magnetizing to the shuttle itself, she disconnects the next connector from the shuttle itself and shifts to kick the ring section loose. It swayed several times before breaking loose. Cargo pod done. Sighing, she wanted to pause, to stop even but if she did she’d go down in a ball of fire.

Moving along the side of the ship, she clutches to the side of it and finally looks down.

The small town was in the distance now, where most of her friends had jumped down toward and the ground was a lot closer than she’d like. Moving quickly to the next piece, she scowled at the massive hole in it, “Deadlock..” sighing, it came away a lot easier and spun away from the ship. That would be a pain to deal with, just hopefully a pain she wouldn’t have to deal with.

Okay, last piece.

Grasping the connector, she breaks it with far too much ease.

Faulty parts that could have killed them, wonderful.

It fell away the same as the first two sections, food secure as it crashed to the ground, staying mostly together, crates tumbling out. Sighing, she looks at the ground again then the shuttle.

There wasn’t enough time to go in and set up the landing gear, this bird was coming down as it was, whether she wanted it to or not. Moving along it, she clung to the bottom of it and pressed the back of her suit to its belly. Crash landing on a foreign planet was not on her to-do list. Maybe being picked up by an alien mothership, but not crash landing.

Shifting the feet of her suit, she braced for the impact.

It came far sooner than she’d have liked, slamming into the ground and rolling the shuttle off her back unserimoniously.

She slammed against the restraints of her piloting chair, the arm that her implants connected to jolted and more pain slammed through her.

Mersiful black took over.

—

The first time they came upon was part of the ring, it leaving a skidding crash mark in the deep sand. He came up on it first and leaned down to try and look inside, there was no lights on inside but he could see the hanging sleeping bags inside and sighed.

Breakdown came up, “What is this?” Sighing, Perceptor had to hold back from kicking it, “It’s our sleep pod, it’s got half our normal gear in it.” Breakdown quickly crushed the entrance and started to shove it out of it’s crater.

He gawked, “What, what are you doing?” But he moved to help anyway, “We have to get to these before the Cybertronian’s do, they don’t know were not, this.” He gestures loosely towards his suit and Percy didn’t pause, he full came to a stop.

It was like crashing software.

”What do you mean they don’t know?” His voice went up an octave and Breakdown sighed, “It was Jazz’s fault, blame him. Now, if these things are falling from the sky, go find the next one and close it up before anyone can see inside. Otherwise our cover is blown.” He gawked.

Unsure of what to say, he slowly nods and moves away, turning and starting to run. Still following the contrails.

Fuck, Arcee was taking the ring apart from around the Illiad. He picked up the pace, glancing back towards Breakdown as the others slowly caught back up. Gulping, he kept running, how could they keep this a secret, how was that at all possible after three and eight years?

It felt impossible.

The next section looked less damaged at least, well, until he had gotten to it. Foot crushing the connection and effectively sealing it off from view, “This has got to be one of the stupidest things I’ve ever done.” He looked back up and felt the light shockwave of probably another one falling.

Sighing deeply, he started to jog towards the next one, “Yeah, just go to space and find out information on the kaiju. Beam it back to Earth like it’s fucking Star Trek. That’s what we want to do, just travel this crazy galaxy like a bunch of pirates.” Maybe he was losing it.

Sliding in the sand, he sighed and tried his comm instead, listening in.

The shockwave hit him first and he landed hard in the sand, then the sound and the screech in his ears had him pulling his helmet off, yelling painfully.

His visual swam as the second shockwave hit and he stayed down, groaning in the sand. Pulling his connection away from his implants, the suit sagged and he hung there in his piloting chair. Dragging a hand over his implants painfully.

Moving forward, he touches the screens in front of him and tries to check his comms again but they are all out. Groaning, he closes his eyes for a moment, breathing slowly.

He had to get to the next two parts of the ring, to keep the Cybertronian’s from finding out they were small or organic or both, maybe. Then find Arcee, who was probably with the remains of the Iliad if she herself was not part of the remains.

That jolted him out of the stupor, quickly sitting back in the chair and pulling on his helmet before snapping the connector back to his implants. He could feel it down to his hands, pushing the suit up slowly as his cameras all came back on. Hardly looking up, he could see the mech named Inferno running towards him.

The comms were still down, but he waved a bit, getting to his knees slowly. Yeah, after not having gravity for two weeks this felt horrible.

Inferno slowed and offered a hand, “Percy, uh, BD said he couldn’t get a hold of you.” Nodding a bit, he motions loosely towards his head, “My comm system is out.” He takes Inferno’s hand and stands shakily, resting his hands on his knees for a minute to breathe.

Patting his shoulder, Inferno looks around, “We think it came from near where your ship likely crashed.” Nodding again, Percy sighed, “Yeah, yeah I thought so.” Sighing, he turns back towards where the contrails had been. The shockwave had dispersed them, but his previous camera feed overlaid it.

”Arcee is that way,” he points in the direction he had been running, “Meaning the pieces of the Iliad we’ve been finding will follow on that line, hopefully.” Inferno nodded, sighing deeply, “Primus,” He smiled a bit, nodding, “Yeah, that sounds about right.” He started to jog back that way again, wobbling as he went while his head still swam.

—

He woke up in the sand, clawing at the ground while it felt like he was desperately trying to keep moving, “Goddamn, fucking, karma.” He wasn’t sure what he did to deserve this right now, but it was on his last nerve. Officially.

Pushing up from the ground, he takes several slow and deep breaths, then when his vision cleared he could see the smoke, “Fuck.” His feet slid in the sand as he started to run that way, hoping, praying, it wasn’t the Iliad. He’d thought it had come down before he’d even got to the Quint crash site.

But clearly, something had gone terribly wrong.

Getting his footing, he took off at a run, a dead sprint while trying to tune his comm back to a working frequency, “Damnit, damnit.” Nothing was coming in, or out, glancing back over his shoulder the dust was still so dense that he couldn’t see the ridge that Mirage would be on.

He was completely and utterly alone at this moment, running towards the fireball of a fellow pilot. It made his stomach turn.

“Focus Hound, damnit, just stay calm.” To stay calm in this situation would take a miracle.

Running was not his favorite thing, it was exhausting, he’d hated running in the military too and in school. Even now, he hates running.

Worse than running, he hated tripping and he tripped over stuff he couldn’t see a lot of the time now. When the sand was still blowing everywhere, he tripped over something solid and slammed into something burning hot, “Oh god!” He fell back and landed on his ass.

Adjusting the cameras quickly, he looked at the overheated object first, and saw the name scrawled across the side. Iliad.

Blinking at it slowly, he sighs, and turns to look over what, or who he tripped over.

Arcee’s suit had peeling paint and looked a little worse for wear, bent metal in its legs and such but it was in one piece. Though her visor was dark, moving over quickly, he grasps her suit quickly and shakes it, “Arcee, Arcee, hey, wake up. It’s me.” Her pink was peeling more than the white, flaking off in his hands.

Groaning quietly, Arcee’s visor lightened slightly, “God Hound, you know how to make a lady feel appreciated." Sighing, he smiled a bit, “You okay?” She nodded slowly, pushing her suit up and looking at the Iliad slowly, “How badly did I crash it?”

Smiling, he shakes his head, “Honestly, not terribly, the sand helped.” He stands and offers a hand, “You steady?” She stared at him, “Are you?” She took his hand, and he helped her up.

It had been years since he’d talked to another human aside from his crew of Jazz, but it felt normal to, weirdly but her staring was slightly unsettling. Shifting back a bit, he scans the surroundings, trying to see through the sand and dust in the air. Just able to make out the smoke in the distance.

Sighing slowly, he closes his eyes, “This day will never end.” Chuckling a bit, Arcee shifted forward, “How do you think I feel?” Nodding a bit, he turned back toward her, “Stay here. The recovery team is coming your way, I’ve gotta check out whatever caused that explosion if it wasn’t the Iliad.”

Her visor darkened slightly, “What explosion?” Nodding a bit, he sighed, “Exactly, just stay here, seal up the Iliad for now. The Cybertronian’s can’t know about us being organics.” Her head tilted slowly, “Why?”

Shaking his head a bit, he was already backing up, “I’ll explain later, I swear, just stay here and,” he sends her a short distance ping that hardly reached her, “Try to connect to the pilots comm channel, Mirage or Bluestreak or even Prowl can explain if there here.” Her confusion clearly only grew, “Who the fuck are those guys?”

Shrugging weakly, he smiled and had to shout from a distance now, “My boyfriend, Sunstreaker’s boyfriend, and Jazz’s boyfriend. You’ll get used to it all with time, I swear!” His heart raced as he turned and ran.

His stomach was flipping and not in a good or pleasant way, but the feelings from his confession would have to wait. Whatever was happening here today, couldn’t be a good sign of anything to come.

———

A/N

So, this chapter was a pain in the ass and I don’t know how much I like it. I’m sorry, but I don’t think it’s my best work. Everyone is so hectic and I felt hectic writing their hectic-ness.

I also 100% lost track of who was where, so that’s why I had characters mention it, for my own sanity.

It might be, that I am now going to post once a week, I’d love to post twice a week but at the moment it is not feasible, but I am going to try to have the next part up on Friday. These last two weeks I have simply given up even trying to do that, but this week I feel a lot more sane.

I’m also pretty sure I’ve written about Space Shuttles in previous chapters for the intro, so I apologize if this is redundant.

TAGS

@lunarlei68 @whirlywhirlygig @loop-hole-319 @pixillandjester @alek-the-witch @not-a-moose-in-disguise @goddessofwind8water @neurologicalglitch @dersereblogger @pixel-transformers @mrcrayonofdoom @wireplaces @twilightfreefaller @original-blog-name-2 @devilangel657 @robbin-u @miniartistme @starwold @tea-enthusiasm @valeexpris606 @celticdoggo @bird599 @agentsquirrelsgotrobots @aquaioart @thatwandercat @artdagz @seisha974 @halenhusky309 @leethepiper @cat-cassette @sirassban @cosmique-oddity @garbageenthusiast @xervias @azulabutterfly @fryseem @spring-mc @echo-circuit @aghostsnail @wooblewooble @ask-glory-haddock-and-others @nonsscrapheap @magichats @iminahole247 @omgflyingderpywhale @thetrexartist @naaaafam @elegantmantaray @emichusai @waterlilykitty @diabolichare @ham4ponyo @osqindaxend @sunnyvibesanddoodles @ratatatata248 @ijustneedausernaneplease4444444 @sprook-children @fooolisher

And once again thank you to @Keferon for this amazing AU

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razorblade180 · 2 days ago

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New Accessories

Hu Tao:*writing*

Zhongli:No birthday plans? *sips tea*

Hu Tao:Nope~ and that’s fine. It’s not like I’m not celebrated by loved ones other days.

Zhongli:Hmm, a very pleasant way to go through life.

Hu Tao:I’m sorta wise beyond my years.

Knock knock knock

Hu Tao: We’re open!

The door creeks open only a little bit after the sound of someone fumbling with the doorknob. Zhongli walks over to help the visitor by opening the door further. On the other side was a rather impressive chocolate cake held by Chongyun. Zhongli looked over at his boss to see her practically dancing behind the counter with joy. It appears wisdom took a backseat to youth. As it should honestly. Zhongli quietly stepped out.

Chongyun:Happy Birthday!

Hu Tao:Ehehe, thank you~ That cake looks gorgeous! Xiangling outdid himself! Her new friend from Fontaine must be sharing every kind of secret.

Chongyun:I fear Xiangling is sharing some back. I think your birthday dinner might be a little…exotic.

Hu Tao:Oh boy…I can’t say they don’t make things interesting. Maybe the chocolate is an apology.

Chongyun:Has your day been busy?

Hu Tao:The opposite! The only scary thing has been boredom! Feel free to keep me company. I can’t eat this by myself.

Chongyun:Before that, I have my own gift. *pulls out small box* We had a conversation about your hat ornament and how you didn’t mind jewelry, remember.

Hu Tao:Oh!? Another Chongyun original?

The current branch in her hat was currently gold, a cute and uniquely symbolic way on Liyue betrothal. Funnily enough, most haven’t noticed, making it really funny to walk around her friends. Yunjin and Zhongli noticed; Shenhe was also a pleasant surprise. Everyone else, not so much. That was fine. Hu Tao found it hilarious and it avoided water works from Xiangling.

Hu Tao unwrapped the ring box to see her new jewelry. She was partial to silver and alloy metals, this wasn’t either to her knowledge. In the box was a shiny black ring with intricate golden engravings of a plum blossom. That actually had a hue of red in the center of the flowers. Only one thing came to mind.

Hu Tao: This looks so expensive it’s scary.

Chongyun:I don’t know how much this would go for. The base was volcanic rock from Natlan Aether helped me get.

Hu Tao:*red* VOLCANIC!?

Chongyun:Yeah. Thankfully I didn’t waste as much as I thought I would. Carving into this was a lot more challenging than I anticipated.

Hu Tao:…What the heck am I supposed to do for your birthday!!?

Chongyun:It’s not a contest.

Hu Tao:You gave me the coolest ring I’ve ever seen! Am I going to have to find a spirit that won’t flee from you now?

Chongyun:*eyes widen* That could be interesting. Wait, don’t go looking for evil spirits as a present!

Hu Tao:I kid, I kid. Seriously though. Thank you for this.

Chongyun:You’re welcome.

The way the ring caught the light was almost hypnotic. Hu Tao was beginning to think Chongyun might be missing his call as an artisan. A side hustle never hurts. She took her red gem ring off her left ring finger and moved it to her right. Now the new ring had the perfect home. Fits perfectly too. Hu Tao couldn’t help but grin. She looked back up at Chongyun to se him bright red and frozen.

Hu Tao:Chongyun? What’d I miss?

Chongyun:N-Nothing.

Hu Tao:….*smirks* What? Don’t tell me you’re surprised. Isn’t this the finger you wanted it on? Why else would it fit~

He remained silent, but that didn’t stop her from walking from behind the counter and getting closer. Hu Tao placed a hand on the flustered boy’s chest. His heart was absolutely jumping for joy. She knew hers were doing the same. It was impossible not to giggle.

Hu Tao:All this progress and you’re still this shy.

Chongyun:Please spare me.

Hu Tao:Hmm, make me an offer.

Her hand gently reached for the side of his face as he tried to look tough, only to appear more adorable. Chongyun was still very much emboldened by her light hearted teasing. All Hu Tao did was left her heels slightly off the ground and he leaned in to greet her with the only present she appreciated the most from him. Few things were as wonderful as a kiss from a fellow dork in love. Her heels fell back to the ground and the kiss ended with the biggest smile on her face while he sheepishly grinned.

Chongyun:You might be a hazard to my health.

Hu Tao:What else is new?

Xingqui:*opens door* Happy Bir-

H&C:*bright red*….

Xingqui:Ah, wrong address. *closes door*

Chongyun:Don’t act like nothing happened!!! That’s worse!

Hu Tao:You can come in!!

Xingqui:I’ll just stay outside with Mr. Zhongli.

Hu Tao:HE’S JUST STANDING THERE!?

Zhongli:*peeks inside* I forgot to grab my tea…

#genshin impact #xingqiu #hu tao #chongyun #chongtao #zhongli

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theplotmage · 22 hours ago

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Sci-fi/Fantasy Writer PROMPTS, Activities and Exercises: Ideas to Spark Creativity and Fight Writer's Block! Try this out!

Character Creation & Development

1. Alien Species Bio – Create an entirely new alien species. Detail their appearance, culture, language, and planet of origin.

2. Fantasy Race Creation – Design a new fantasy race with unique traits, beliefs, and magic systems.

3. Character’s Dark Secret – Write about your character’s biggest secret and how it affects their choices in the story.

4. Intergalactic Job Interview – Write a scene where a character interviews for a job on another planet.

5. Hero or Villain? – Take a character and rewrite a scene where they’re the hero. Now, rewrite it with them as the villain.

6. Character’s Fatal Flaw – Choose a character and write about their fatal flaw—what could lead to their downfall?

7. Create a Fantasy Ancestry – Design a family tree for one of your fantasy characters, exploring their magical or royal lineage.

8. Magic System Blueprint – Create a unique magic system with rules, limitations, and societal consequences.

9. Inter-species Romance – Write a love story between two characters from different species or worlds. How do they overcome their differences?

10. Superpower Conflict – Give your character a superpower, then make them face a challenge where their power causes more harm than good.

World-Building & Setting

11. One Day in a Fantasy City – Write a day in the life of an ordinary person in your fantasy world.

12. Galactic Government – Design the political system for a galaxy-spanning empire. How does it manage different planets?

13. Map Maker – Draw a detailed map of your fantasy or sci-fi world, including key landmarks and unexplored areas.

14. Alien Landscape – Describe a bizarre alien planet’s landscape and its effect on the inhabitants.

15. Sky’s the Limit – Design a sky in a sci-fi or fantasy world. Is it green with floating islands? Does it have three suns?

16. Magic and Technology Clash – Write about a world where magic and advanced technology coexist but are constantly at odds.

17. Futuristic City Tour – Write a detailed tour of a futuristic city—describe the technology, architecture, and social dynamics.

18. Weather Control – Create a world where the weather is controlled by a powerful group or machine. What happens when it fails?

19. Invent a Holiday – Design a holiday in your fantasy or sci-fi world. What does it celebrate, and how is it observed?

20. Multiverse Portal – Write a scene where a character discovers a portal to a parallel universe. How is it different from their own?

Plot & Story Development

21. Time Travel Trouble – Write a scene where time travel goes wrong. How do the characters fix the timeline?

22. The Last Dragon – Write a story about the last dragon on a planet, and why it’s being hunted.

23. Space Heist – Plan and write a scene where a crew of space outlaws steals something from a heavily guarded space station.

24. Elemental War – Imagine a world where the elements (fire, water, air, earth) are at war. Write about how it affects daily life.

25. End of Magic – Write about a world where magic is slowly disappearing. How does society adapt?

26. Alien Invasion from Another Dimension – Write a short story about an alien invasion, but from a dimension parallel to ours.

27. Betrayal in Space – Write a scene where a crew member on a spaceship betrays the rest of the team. What are the consequences?

28. Space Pirate Crew – Create a band of space pirates and their spaceship. Write a day in their life aboard the ship.

29. The Artifact – Write about an ancient, magical artifact found in a sci-fi setting. How does it change technology?

30. Rogue AI – Create a scenario where an AI system gains consciousness and decides to rebel against its creators.

Conflict & Challenges

31. Magic Duel – Write an epic magic duel between two powerful wizards or sorcerers. Focus on creative use of magic.

32. Futuristic Dystopia – Imagine a dystopian future where society is controlled by corporations. Write a rebellion scene.

33. Alien Diplomacy – Write a scene where humans negotiate peace with an alien species for the first time.

34. Survival on an Uncharted Planet – Write about a team crash-landing on a mysterious planet. What challenges do they face?

35. Telepathy Gone Wrong – Create a story where telepathic communication backfires, causing chaos among those who use it.

36. Fae Court Politics – Write about the inner workings of a fae court, with political intrigue and magical manipulation.

37. Symbiotic Relationship – Write a story where an alien species requires a symbiotic bond with another species to survive.

38. Shape-Shifting Battle – Write a battle scene where both combatants are shape-shifters. How do they outsmart each other?

39. Uncontrollable Power – Write about a character who gains a new, uncontrollable power. How do they handle it?

40. Artificial Gravity Failure – Write a scene where artificial gravity on a spaceship fails. How do the characters react?

Perspective & Point of View

41. Non-Human POV – Write a scene from the perspective of a non-human (alien, dragon, robot, etc.) and how they view humans.

42. Object POV – Write a story from the point of view of a magical artifact or futuristic device.

43. Villain’s Perspective – Rewrite a pivotal scene from the villain’s point of view, explaining their motivations.

44. Mind-Meld – Write a scene where two characters experience a mind-meld. How does it affect their relationship and understanding?

45. AI POV – Write from the perspective of an AI that is learning about human emotions for the first time.

Miscellaneous & Fun Prompts

46. Sci-Fi Tech Ad – Write an advertisement for a new piece of futuristic technology. What are its uses and potential downsides?

47. Fantasy Cookbook – Create a menu for a tavern in your fantasy world, complete with magical drinks and enchanted meals.

48. Starship Design – Design a unique starship for a crew of adventurers. Describe its layout, capabilities, and any quirky features.

49. Create a New Currency – Invent a new form of currency in your world. What does it look like? How is it earned or spent?

50. Interstellar News Report – Write a news article or report about a major event happening in a galaxy far, far away.

Bonus Activity: 30-Day Writing Mastery Challenge with the Plot Mage Planner

Activity – For the next 30 days, fully immerse yourself in your writing project by using the Plot Mage’s All-in-One Writing Planner.

Here’s how!

1. Day 1 – Start with character creation using the guided worksheets in the planner. Fill out the character profiles and experiment with different backstories and traits.

2. Day 2-5 – Dive into the world-building section, where you can craft your world’s geography, politics, and culture using detailed prompts and templates.

3. Day 6-10 – Develop your plot with the fully guided general outline. The planner’s roadmap will help you break down your novel’s key plot points and arcs.

4. Day 11-15 – Organize your book series overview. Plan out future books or tie in different plot threads with the automated and synced pages for maximum cohesion.

5. Day 16-20 – Take advantage of the repository of writer tools integrated in the planner. Research, brainstorm, or discover new writing aids from all over the web in one convenient place.

6. Day 21-25 – Refine your writing by using the planner’s automated daily writing goals and tracking pages. Keep your progress in sync across devices and stay on top of your schedule.

7. Day 26-30 – Reflect on your journey. Use the planner’s overview to assess your story’s progress and tweak any sections, ensuring everything is aligned before moving forward.

Try these exercises by using this world bible, tinker and play around with this tool

#writer #writerscorner #writing #writing inspiration #writer things #author #writers and poets #fantasy writer #sci fi and fantasy #writing inspo #writing resources #writing blog #writing help #writing exercise #writing prompt #writers block

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rippersz · 6 hours ago

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𝐂𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐈𝐬 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐨𝐨𝐫𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐃𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐫𝐞 {𝐈}

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

One would think that an arranged marriage with a popular Noxian warlord would result in quite a few things, both good and bad. One would think that after some amount of time, the bad starts to outweigh the good.

Those people would be wrong.

It’s bad. Irritating. Isolating. Exhausting.

Until you start to realize just how sexy your wife is.

Then it becomes bad. Irritating. Isolating. Exhausting.

And hot.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

RATING/CONTENT: EXPLICIT; G!P Ambessa Medarda; Virgin Reader; Chubby Reader; Fem!Reader; Slowish-burn; Multi-chap; Arranged marriage; SMUT-CENTRED; ~12.7K

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

The wedding was extravagant. Divided between an indoor soiree and a balcony oasis, every wall, every corridor, every spot the eyes could look carried a certain air of Noxian finery. It wasn’t because of the decor, as splendid and gleaming as it all was, and it wasn’t because of the band or the staff, draped in uniforms of crimson and black, and it wasn’t because of the atmosphere, with its tastes of perfume, fresh meals, and money. No, no, above all else, what gave the event its spark of Noxian authority, of undeniable privilege, of the truest kind of worth, was the brand.

Medarda.

The sigil was pressed into napkins, into displayed weaponry, into suits of armour and even the silverware. Banners hanging from the main room’s walls were meticulously crafted with perfectly centred crests. Not the newer version, altered by a modern approach, but the original two-diamond sleeve with its centre star. They faced each other like mirrors, like hangings of blood, and set the tone with ease for the manor’s guests as they trickled through the front entrance. Remember your place, the sigil mocked, and do not forget where you are now. Not only a call for respect from allies, but a reminder—a threat—to those who thought they could swoop in under the veil of festivity and wreak havoc. Like a well-crafted blade, that was just another facet of a Medarda wedding. Beautiful and lethal all at once.

Guards stood at every door, patrolled every hall, watched over every room—even the ones that wouldn’t see a glimpse of sunlight all day. To Ambessa Medarda, it didn’t matter. She was too clever to allow herself a moment of respite. If an enemy dared a strike at her careful plans, they would find themselves dared against the edge of her katar. Not one guest batted an eye. But was that such a surprise? No. It was Noxus of course, such behaviour was expected, encouraged, and appreciated. The people marveled at seeing the Medardian interior, the dark woods and the clean irons and the impressive stonework. They loved the carpeting, the tall ceilings, the glory of the main hall and the ceremony room, and they nodded their heads at the armoured soldiers while they gorged themselves on liquor. In fact, the only one who truly found the underlying aura of a threat to be unsettling was none other than the bride herself: you.

It was by far the most stressful thing you’d ever had to endure. Despite the marvelous sunset and the grand day and the delicious food and reassurance of loud laughter, anxiety did not dissipate easily even in the face of a jovial atmosphere. Rather, it coiled inside you, bubbled like a scalding fire, and was one of the reasons why you wanted to (many times) rip the golden dress from your body and jump off of the nearest ledge. There was a slight chance that you could have gotten away with it too… if it weren’t for the fact that your new wife was the most perceptive, observant, well-trained creature you had ever met in your entire life.

Amber eyes followed you like a drakehound’s snout with a trail of blood. Unrelenting, quick, and sharp. It didn’t matter how many tall, muscular people stood between you and her, or how dark the corner that you tucked yourself into was, if she could catch even a sliver of your body, you were being watched. Tracked. Not with something soft, either. Not with lust or care or curiosity, as if she’d ever look at you like that, but rather with possession, with suspicion, with a fascinating elixir of strict acknowledgement and amusement. Like it was secretly the funniest thing in the world to watch you try your best at charming the strangers you called guests or at trying to keep yourself entertained until the evening was through. Suffice to say, it did not take a genius to gauge just how bored and exhausted you were despite the fact that you hid it well enough. Ambessa Medarda could sniff it out in a heartbeat because that’s just who she was, but everyone else… well. Apparently, it did take a genius. Or at least a very intelligent warlord. Because everyone else was so certain, quite suddenly, that you were itching to slip away from the celebration of your blooming marriage and tumble off somewhere to go have sex with your new wife.

Such a preposterous idea spread in the form of little whispers, laughs, and glances, but it all swiftly graduated to sly remarks. Warriors and esteemed house leaders, even well-known names from foreign lands and a few ambassadors, traveled around the main room making connections, doing their own rounds of the floor to greet your wife, sharing stories and watching one another like hawks. They chatted and laughed and poked fun and made thinly-veiled threats just before running over the ridge and coming to you. The fresh meat. The flower on display. The real show. Their smiles were all a bit too wide, like they knew something you didn’t, and they looked down at you (for you were one of the shortest people in the room, standing at 5’ something rather than above 6’2”) like you were the answer to all of their problems. What you could possibly do for them? You hadn’t the slightest idea. Although many did sneak in a comment here or there about ‘speaking’ to Ambessa on ‘their behalf’. You often had to muffle the sarcastic snort that built up so frequently within your throat. Like you’d ever speak to your ‘new wife’ about anything even similar to politics or trade. Like you’d ever speak to her at all. Please. After that day, you planned to keep to yourself for as long as physically possible. But they didn’t know that and they didn’t have to. It was none of their business. And yet… a vast majority of the room was quite certain that the restlessness of your soul existed purely because you were constantly battling the urge to cross the large richly-decorated hall, take a big flying leap, and jump Ambessa Medarda’s bones.

“But I suppose you’re eager for some time alone with your newly wedded wife, yes?” Some snobby motherfucker in a Piltovan jacket cooed.

“Oh I’ve got no doubt. She’ll take good care of you.” A half-drunk warrior grinned.

“I’m surprised the two of you haven’t run off to your chambers already.” One of the two Demacian ambassadors teased.

“You have much promise for Clan Medarda. Ambessa was right in picking you, I can tell. You will give her family tree life once more.” The other Demacian said, totally serious, and knocked the nail into the coffin when they nodded at you and uttered, before fucking off somewhere else: “The children will be strong.”

The children.

You slipped out of the nearest door after that and placed your drink on the floor, not bothering to finish the heady depth of Noxian wine. It wasn’t sweet like the familiar liqueurs from Ionia. In fact, nothing was like the sweet familiarity of Ionia. There was no nature, there was no freedom, there was no community, no trust, no smiles that didn’t hold ulterior motives, no laughter that wasn’t tinged with irritation, no camaraderie or kindness, no fresh air or green vines or natural springs, no merchants who would give passing traders food for free, no weavers who created shoes for the village children, no selfless creatures, no families with new babies who kept to themselves and didn’t force their ideas of motherhood onto you. There were no lovers who didn’t have blood staining their hands. There were no wives who hadn’t slaughtered entire cities. There were no doors that didn’t have soldiers posted at every fucking angle.

You huffed when you nearly tripped over one of their steel boots and turned to stomp down the hall. Like statues, they were still and strong and didn’t bother turning their heads to meet the glare you sent them over your shoulder. Like brutes. Listening to their leader like dogs called to heel. A harsh scoff scraped the back of your throat as you rounded the corner, feeling the blooming twinge of overstimulated anger in your gut, and you bunched your fists up into the buttery fabric of your dress. The staff had been so helpful earlier, remaining silent and respectful as they slid the golden fabric over your skin, practicing patience while trying not to crease it. During the few times you met their eyes, you swore you could see pity, but it was so fleeting, like spooked birds, that you couldn’t really tell. What was there to pity anyway? Your arranged marriage to a fearsome warlord so as to avoid the industry of your people falling under the iron chains of complete Noxian reign? Your lack of choice regarding the decision because if you didn’t marry Ambessa Medarda then your people would definitely suffer? The expectation of children that you weren’t quite aware of until that exact moment in the celebration hall when strangers started speaking about how beautiful your heirs would be? The fact that if you did have children, they wouldn’t even be your heirs but rather hers?

…Perhaps there was a lot to pity. Perhaps you had to give yourself more credit. Perhaps you had to tear through the nearest set of windows, break your body through the glass, and end it all before anyone else could expect something of you.

Perhaps you could manage it, too. Considering how far you were from a certain pair of prying eyes…

Your footsteps slowed, tempering to a drag against the red carpet beneath your heels, and when you finally stopped in the middle of a corridor—a place you were not yet familiar with—you found yourself turning to face a slim pane of glass. It was set into the stone wall, placed perfectly between identical windows, and beyond your immediate view sat a deep orange horizon. It was fading into a blue-black, into a midnight scene, and slowly, breaking through thick evening clouds, you could catch the twinkles of far away stars. They waved at you, cheered at you, and sent pangs of sadness through your heart.

In Ionia, you could see them almost all the time. They were like friends—brighter there, shining even past the sun because of the clear skies, and they followed you wherever you went.

Even to Noxus, it seemed.

Even to your wedding day.

Even to the bed chambers you found yourself wandering toward after you tried to clear your head and walked away from the window.

There was no use trying to escape. Ambessa Medarda never made any guarantee that should anything happen to you, she’d give your people another chance. You were most likely the only thing standing in the way. The symbol of peace. The connecting saviour. And your family still thrived, still ate and drank, still loved their work, and no doubt missed you more and more each day… you could not ruin the likelihood of getting to see them again.

So suck it up, your thoughts hissed as you scoured the halls, desperately looking for the familiar emblem upon blood-red doors, and push on.

And push on. Because there was nothing else left to do. So push on. Embrace some of the Wolf and push on. Ignore the laughter from the celebration of your hopeless marriage and push on. Ignore the shining helmets of the statued guards and push on. Ignore the theme of war clinging to the Medardan bedchambers and push on. Ignore your heart, your mind, your instincts and your morals, and push on.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

It had been a blur of time between the moment you left and the moment she found you. It could have been an hour, it could have been five, it could have been thirty minutes, it didn’t matter. Your ass was numb from sitting on the settee for so long. The hearth was dark and empty. The room was coated in silence. Only the stars and the moon glimmered through the wide windows, but they didn’t offer much light or comfort. They simply sat in their positions, hoisted into the sky, to watch freely while you stared at the floor, at your feet, at the fabric of your dress, and wallowed.

The stone walls were silent. The stone floor didn’t speak. The huge rug in the centre of the room, made from the pelt of a white Frejlordian animal, didn’t whisper a word. The plush charcoal duvet from atop the tall, wide bed, kept quiet. The polished display of weapons arranged above the hearth glared like enemies. The great double doors held their breath. The clean windows straightened up. The expensive pillows beside you looked the other way. The bar in the corner of the room smirked without a sound. The wine didn’t even blink.

It was an oasis of your breathing and your thoughts, buzzing like the insects found in Ionian swamps.

And then it was shattered—because that’s what Noxians did. They stomped through the swamps and they stole you from your peace.

“I will admit… I’m a bit disappointed I have to reprimand you so soon,” her voice, despite sounding like liquid silver and powdered power, sent shadows of frustration racing through your heart. She sounded just as she said: disappointed, but you also sensed a distinct lack of surprise. Like she knew you were going to run from the party even before it began. Was that surprising? No. Not really.

She decided not to finish her sentence yet, leaving you in a very purposeful well of suspense while she began moving about her bedroom and fiddling with her outfit. The wedding armour produced light clinks and scrapes as it was rearranged or taken off—you didn’t know because you didn’t bother facing her—and each sound that broke the quiet set your nerves ablaze. You’d seen her get-up enough times already throughout the day, you’d practically memorized the stitching, and as much as it infuriated you to even acknowledge her presence, you were (unfortunately) not an idiot.

Yes, you still had eyes.

And yes, so did she.

A very impressive set, in fact. Far better than any other in all of Noxus (and Ionia, you figured). Amber and mahogany set behind an aureate film, shaded by dark lashes, constantly sparkling with knowledge—as if she knew everything all the time. Knowledge or hubris? Who could tell? She used them like she used her weapons. With precision. With intention. And her face, blessed by some God or another, only amplified the destruction. Damn her sort of beauty. It was actually quite strange for a warlord, hardened through battle and bloodshed, through murder and espionage, to look so… so… you didn’t even have a word scornful enough. The line of her side profile alone was frustratingly striking. Smooth dark skin inset with graceful age, jaw cut sharp enough to slice stone, delicately shelled ears, thick red lips, strong chin, the curves of forehead and nose gentle, bridge not quite hooked, thin severe grey brows set low over those honeyed eyes, and three peach-healed scars drawn taught across the left side of her face. Curling like a jagged bolt of lightning from the jaw up over the cheekbone, kissing a smoother line from the chin into the lower lip, sharply painting a right-curving hook along the forehead from the careful root of a grey widow’s peak.

When you saw her speak for the first time back home, through the swift gaps of her mouth, fast and steady as she introduced herself, razor-edged cuspids glinted like diamonds. And clenched within them, pressed into the perfect rows of those sparklingly white teeth, was a promise.

I am going to get what I want.

And that is exactly what happened.

The beauty certainly helped, sure, but that’s not how she struck her deal. It was the cunning, the guile, the might, the vision that illuminated her path to political victory and threw shadow upon your new walk of doom.

But it could be worse.

Yes. It could be worse. She could be ugly instead.

“If you are going to last in this position,” her voice was hard and sharp, just as sudden as a wolf’s bite, “then you must wear the face of this house with honour. I do not tolerate disrespect.”

The sound of something thumping against cloth—the duvet, you assumed—was the only indication that she was unwinding. Her tone, on the other hand, suggested that the fire in her soul was just sparking to life. You weren’t really in the mood to push it, to argue and trade barbs, especially not with the woman you wanted to slap straight across the face, but it appeared that she was giving you no option. If you stayed quiet, you’d either be viewed as obedient or apathetic, and if you spoke up, you’d either be viewed as a problem or a crybaby. And if you tried to walk out, there was no guarantee that you could reach the door before she stopped you from escaping what was apparently a very important conversation. Your first one yet. Already starting off ‘marriage’ like professionals.

You shifted on the settee, feeling pins and needles in your lower back, and both felt and heard the shudder in your breath when you sighed. Exhaustion ran rampant, tugging at your eyes, your lips, your scalp, and the dress’s fabric was beginning to scratch at your skin, and Ambessa Medarda’s overwhelmingly weighty presence (combined with her building anger) did your tired body no favors at all. Perhaps if you had more time to wallow, to think, then you would’ve felt better about being forced into marriage, and could have had more than an ounce of patience, but she came in too early. So what else was there to do aside from stand up and adjust the too-tight fabric around your hips as a means to distract yourself from the eventual consequences of your exasperation?

“How, exactly, did my exit disrespect you?” Said with yet another sigh and a slow hanging of your head, you refused to meet her gaze.

“Listen well, child.”

And before you could blink, there she was, carried swiftly by long legs right up to your body, standing as tall and unwavering as the stronghold of Basalich. The last thing you wanted upon facing a warrior like her was to find yourself on the other side of a mean taunting gaze, so you kept your eyes forward and stared at the wall of her broad chest instead. The plating from her bridal outfit was gone, leaving the crimson armour of her corseted shirt bare to your eyes. She was warm despite standing a foot away, radiating a natural heat that drew you in and repelled you all at once. You could feel her staring holes into your forehead.

“A Medarda never cowers.” Her voice was husky, commanding, you felt the timbre of it shake your soul. That type of conviction was untouchable—like iron in her grasp. There was no room for contention. “We endure.” She announced like a queen.

Yes. Endure and take. You are the ones people cower, run, and hide from. Silly me. How could I forget?

“If you want to stay a Medarda and honour the terms of our arrangement,” a soft threat swam beneath her words, amplified only by the subtle lean of her body toward your own, “then you will remember this the next time you’re struck with… discomfort.” She said it with such a strange amount of disgust that the irritation swirling in your gut quickly flared into something overwhelming.

Discomfort?

Oh you’d show her discomfort.

Your head went shooting up so fast you felt dizzy. There was a mean look in your eyes, you knew it, but even the sight of her standing so tall—nearly two feet higher than yourself—didn’t dissuade you of your anger. She was being rude. Callous. Before you even arrived in Noxus, you promised yourself that you would not allow your marriage to be a burden worse than it already was. If you could be civil until death, that was the best course of action. If you had to run away in the future and could actually manage it, even better. But as it stood, you had the rest of your years ahead of you and you had to spend them forced into the shadow of a warmongerer. A blood-thirsty, wolf-adoring, pride-obsessed, stupidly-observant, infuriatingly-intelligent, terribly-alluring, beautiful woman who also had a lot of money.

But it could be worse.

She could be ugly.

Unfortunately, she wasn’t. And that was one of the greatest, most annoying issues. When you glared up at her, having to crane your neck a bit too much (a gesture that will forever be a reminder of your status), you had to violently, internally, swiftly reject the urge to look away again. She was so unbelievably smug and confident that it made you sick. And you didn’t have to see a smirk on her face to know it—she said it all with her eyes alone.

Test me, little one. See what happens.

When you were young, you never had trouble keeping your mouth shut. Yes, you were sarcastic and yes you were a bit sassy, but your settlement knew you to be a generous helper. A staple of connection. A daughter of the family sector that handled the trades. Upstanding in an Ionian fashion. That hadn’t really changed over the years. You were chaste at 18, rebellious at 21, a philogynist at 23, a writer at 24, an authoritative figure at 25, and then you hit 26 and Ambessa Medarda decided to swagger her way along Ionia, looking for a productive village large enough to provide her with exotic crops. The kind used for elixirs and poisons. Apparently, she’d been thinking of the idea for over a decade—she just never had the time to follow through. Until she did. Maybe you never stood a chance at all.

Your sass, however, seemed to flare up quite a lot whenever you were forced into intense political marriages. So when she towered over you like that and placed her big hands on her strong hips and flexed her muscles in the dim light of the room (not intentional, you were sure), then you didn’t quite feel like fighting the instinct that told you to speak up. In fact, you wanted her to know just how pissed she’d made you. You wanted her to recognize that you wouldn’t be a pawn she could push around on her little Noxian chess board. You wanted her to realize that there was war in you too. A different kind of war, but war nevertheless. You weren’t going to be one of the training mats she could walk all over, you weren’t going to be a servant she could boss around, you weren’t going to shut up and sit down and take it. Maybe if she were kinder, if the circumstances were different, if you didn’t feel the panic of being in her shadow itching beneath your skin, buzzing in your ears, then you would’ve been nicer. But she was suffocating, flustering, and you gave her the response she was looking for without even realizing.

“Let me remind you, I never wanted to become a Medarda in the first place.” Your voice came out like a hiss and your face, for you could feel the tightening and shifting of your skin, screwed itself up into a snarl. You must’ve looked righteously livid. “So do not speak to me as if I don’t understand the concept of responsibility. Today has been stressful and isolating. I am very far from home, and the very last thing I need right now,” your voice rose, fueled by injustice, “is a woman so self-involved in her own crimes against humanity that she can’t even bear to spare a spot of empathy for her new wife.”

“Relax your fists, child.” She clipped the edge of your sentence, drawling like her tongue was doused in honey, and you watched, burning with indignation, as she tilted her head ever so slowly, slightly, to the left, and glanced down at your hands.

Fists?

You blinked, going warm from embarrassment of all things as you followed her gaze and found that, indeed, your fingers had curled themselves into the meat of your clammy palms. You were also leaning toward her, nearly on the tips of your toes (which were bare because you kicked your heels off somewhere by the animal carpet when you stormed in earlier), too driven by scorn to realize that you were acting, at least physically, quite hostile. To a warlord, that is. And such behaviour was unacceptable. If you were anyone else, like one of her soldiers, she would’ve struck you as soon as your voice rose. But as her wife, she had no choice but to turn the other cheek as best she could without allowing you, of course, to think that you had any control. Because you didn’t. In fact, you were so far removed from control that it was almost laughable. You were merely a political tactic, a bold move, a bargain, and it was your job to be arm candy, to be a face for her brand, to be a supporter and encourager, to smile and hang onto her arm and contain your emotions and take care of your appearance so that the world could know just how far Ambessa Medarda would go to get what she wanted. As far as taking a wife.

Could you do that if you disliked her so intensely? Probably not.

And clenching your fists wasn’t going to get you any further onto her good side—which was really, ideally, where you needed to remain for your own sake.

So your hands went slack and your shoulders drooped, successfully doused by the chilly waters of her subtlety.

Again. Do not test me.

But it was so hard not to when she- well when she looked like that and spoke like that. With arrogance.

“You are upset. Rightfully so,” she started diplomatically, schooling her expression into something more relaxed, more exhausted, more… placating. Her eyes, however, were still just as sharp. “But you knew what you were getting into. Crumbling after a binding contract has been made and sealed is unwise.” Your heart twinged, quickly growing familiar with the punch of her apathy. And when she took a small step forward, those big hips sauntering the tiniest bit, your heart twinged and then leapt. You struggled to keep it down. Ambessa didn’t seem to notice; her voice was made of steel. “If you do not get a hold of these feelings soon,” a silver brow ticked up, “then I fear your experience will be more intolerable than you’ve imagined.”

“How do you know I’ve imagined anything?” You growled as best you could, scrambling to keep your mask of anger glued to your face.

Her shadow quite literally swallowed you, enforced with all of her might, and you felt your bones weaken beneath the weight of it.

But you couldn’t falter. You wouldn’t falter.

Even if her smirk was unfortunately jaw-droppingly sexy.

“What do you believe to be your real purpose here?” It might’ve been a genuine question, despite spawning in from nowhere, but suspicion told you that she already knew your answer.

People talked, after all, and Ambessa Medarda was very intuitive. Connecting the dots was no difficult task. The word on most people’s lips that entire day had been ‘heir’ and the second most popular had been ‘children’. Because entering into an arranged marriage for the sake of trade alone didn’t seem to exist anymore. No, no. Heirs, at least in the Noxian empire, were all anyone desired. A proper legacy. A name to last throughout the ages. Another generation to spit fire. And that’s exactly what the Medardas needed. Ambessa had her children but they were not born with their mother’s desire for bloodshed. Rather, as you heard, they strived for peace and understanding. A position never fit to last long in Noxus.

A new child, however, could solve that problem; could lengthen the amount of time her family name spent in the folds of history, could succeed her own death whenever her mortal chase ended, could expand her own mini-empire. Perfectly plausible. All she needed was a breeder. A political figure, most preferably, who wouldn’t cause drama or conflict, who would know her place and understand her duties, who would give her something in return (aside from her womb of course) that would bolster her power. Not an idiot, not a fool, not a naïve girl, and not a harbinger of trouble.

Motherly, too. With the instinct and all.

It was a pity for her then that you were no mother.

Not really, at least.

If a baby were thrust into your arms and you had the means to provide for it without hassle, then sure, but otherwise a child of your own? With your blood? It had never been a consideration. And after an arranged marriage with a fearsome, narcissistic, self-involved, manipulative warlord?

Absolutely not!

And yet?

That is what they wanted from you.

That is what she wanted from you. And by the Gods did that make your blood boil.

“I think I’m to be your breeding stock. To give you children so you can spread your war-addicted ideologies.” You spat, glaring up with all your might. Honeyed eyes stared back at you, totally unmoved. Her disinterest only served to piss you off more. “And let me tell you something. If that’s what you think this is going to be, I’ll let you know right now that it’s not. I am not your little pregnant wife, I am not your baby mother, I will have nothing to do with procreating. Not now, not ever. And if you even try to change my mind, I’ll run out of here so fast you won’t be able to blink before I’m gone! Do you understand me, Ambessa Medarda?”

“Oh I do.” She hummed, darkly, and poured all of her attention over your body like liquid metal. It came in the form of a lingering gaze, flickering over your shoulders, your chest, your waist, your hips, your legs, your feet. Up and down, catching at the dips of your figure, caressing your body with only a glance, contemplating something before wandering back up to your eyes. You couldn’t exactly tell what was there—in her expression, behind that amber look, skulking and melting and waiting—but you got the sense that it was patient. She was patient. When she wanted to be, at least. You’d heard a story or two of her battles; how intricate her plans were, how long she played the game. A wolf with battle strategy, that is one of the most dangerous things a creature could be.

And as she took a step back, one, two, turning her body toward the bedroom door once more, languid and glimmering with a mix of amusement and venomous anger, half draped in shadow and glory, you saw it all in a quick flash. That danger. Alluring and terrifying in equal measure.

Her lips parted.

“You must stick to your conviction, child,” announced in that haughty way of hers, accompanied by the sanguine maroon of her smirk, “but be prepared to abandon your own assumptions. For others and for yourself.”

You didn’t even have a chance to respond before the doors closed behind her, definitive and heavy and concluding with their gentle bang and cutting end.

By the time she’d returned that evening, you were fast asleep on the farthest edge of the bed, totally uninterested in acknowledging her words, her existence, her presence, your marriage, or the fact that you’d genuinely never slept upon anything softer.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Over time, as most things did, it got easier.

Neither of you mentioned the one-sided argument from your wedding night. There was no discussion of pregnancy or children or motherhood, and no expectations had been set—none that you knew about, at least.

So for the longest time, it was all quite… civil. Surprisingly.

You became familiar with your staff, with certain ambassadors and political figures that were too important to avoid, you’d explored the Medardian compound, their main home within Noxus, and had even found a favourite Noxian dessert and main course. Drake-hounds had also become an interest, a thing you discussed with some sellers and owners in the markets, who spoke to you despite the intimidating flank of soldiers at your sides, and to fill most of your time, you’d taken to painting and writing. In the beginning, it was gradients and complaints, then at some point it had shifted to nature and poetry, and after that, still-lifes and ponderings.

Simple, regardless of the region, and without much stress, regardless of your wife.

In fact, you didn’t see her all that often. Ambessa did her own thing, tended to her own knitting, went about her scheming and planning and spent many hours in her study pouring over maps and documents with Rictus at her side and a few other important faces lingering over her shoulders. It was impactful, the work she did, and although you had your reservations about it, the lingering simmers of betrayal, outrage, and hurt, you were also struck with a confusingly distinct spot of admiration. She was what some would call a ‘war-pig’, yes, and definitely cruel in similar ways, yes, but it was not senseless. There always seemed to be a viable reason, tinged with self-serving desires, but not overrun with selfishness. Her family, at the very least, was a testament to her strength. She did all that she did for and because of them—you could understand that even without a rare conversation.

And lucky for you, in some roundabout way, you’d become part of that family as well. Not as her flesh and blood, never as that, but rather as a close ally. A necessary thing to protect.

That’s how it was for half a year.

Six months of civility. Unspoken compromise. Peace.

Until one fateful evening after you’d just gotten dressed, fresh from the warm waters of a bath.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

It was a bit hotter than tepid by the time Ambessa walked into the bedroom, her head held high but expression dull and exhausted. The hearth was comforting, drawing dark shadows along the orange walls while you potted around and got ready for bed. The warlord was quiet as she took the time to unclasp the usual stylish (but useful) armour of her clothing, and you only interrupted her to ask, gently because you weren’t looking for an anxious talk, “The bath is full. Would you like it re-warmed? It’s still pretty hot.”

Your back was turned to her as you sat on the edge of the bed, facing the moonlight through the windows, sipping your usual before-sleep tea. It was a ritual you’d continued from your childhood, a warm cup of herbal tea before slumber—you didn’t plan to skip out on that regardless of where you lived. And so the rustling of cloth and thuds of various accessories, plus her boots hitting the bed and the floor, faded into the background for but a moment. Your focus had shifted, briefly, calmly, to observe the nightly appearance of the city. The shining fires of Noxus. The dark of the sky. A thing to marvel at, even if you didn’t always like the thought of being there.

“No, thank you,” was all she said, rumbly and warm, unknowingly tugging you back to yourself, and because you were a good person and a kind soul, trying to continue the peace of the recent months, you turned around to give her a soft quick smile.

And proceeded to choke—hard—on your tea.

Wondering about how Ambessa Medarda got her children was not a thing you did. You just assumed, like most, that her husband at the time, Azizi, had been given the honour and permission. You’d never actually met her during that span of a few years, so you didn’t know that she’d never been the one pregnant with the child but rather her lover. A woman, of course, because men couldn’t bear children and because Ambessa Medarda didn’t actually have the facilities to give birth with in the first place.

Instead, from what you could grasp of your very intense (and accidental!) five-second moment of staring, was that in the same place as you had your parts, Ambessa Medarda had hers. And the sight of it caused one wild bolt of fire to spark beneath your skin.

It was big. Proportional, naturally, like the rest of her. Long, too. Thicker in the middle. It seemed… heavy. Even when relaxed, with a slightly thinner base darkened by a smattering of onyx curls and veins that you could only see the shadows of when she straightened to her full height. It had no visible curve or lean, it dangled just as any other did, but you didn’t find it as crude, as disgusting, as it seemed to be on men. Possibly because the scene that came before it; firm, chiseled abs and weighted breasts with husky peaks, enticed you more than the usual flat chests of the male sex. You’d seen too many of those; stocky bodies with no soft curvature, no alluring heaven between their legs, no protective fat to their bellies or the tops of their thighs, and though nudity was allowed in the bathing houses of your community, and some young girls found that tantalizing, you never joined the fun. Because you weren’t interested in admiring. But all of your time spent there listening to their giggling gossip did pay off somehow because you’d come to know what ‘cut’ and ‘uncut’ meant, and in that five-second moment, it became very clear that Ambessa Medarda was the former. Blessed with a marginally smaller tip, a deep umber colour, and an unnecessary amount of raw sex appeal.

Draped in a half-golden light. Her outline all curves and muscle. Temptation in one woman.

Bested by the sight of her body.

Your eyes flew so wide, so quickly, they hurt, and any desire to be discreet about your surprise was immediately shot out of the window, along with your dignity, as your eyes watered and your throat spasmed, scrambling to right itself from its tea debacle. To any other wife, you had no doubt that it wouldn’t have been an issue or a problem or even a shock because Ambessa Medarda either slept in a thin cover-up or in the nude, but for you, who was usually asleep by the time she retired for bed and who was still asleep by the time she woke up for her day, it was something very unexpected. The woman was already touched by the Gods—you weren’t aware that anything about her could be more alluring than her hair or her eyes, which you tried not to pay all that much attention to anyway because you still held a grudge, but apparently you were wrong.

In fact, you had no idea.

No idea whatsoever.

And then, all at once, accidentally, you did.

And it proved to be a very big idea.

One that other wives—other women— would probably (and definitely did) salivate over. One that other wives and other women would probably (and did) throw themselves over the bed for. One that other wives (but not other women) most likely knew of the very evening of their wedding day because they weren’t too upset or angry or mildly scared to touch her. That was the expectation after all. Get married, fuck that same night, and go at it like rabbits forever.

But you just couldn’t do it the easy way, could you? You couldn’t save yourself the trouble. So instead you caught a glimpse of her sex while she was changing and suddenly your face, your body, your hands burst into one glorious mixture of flushed embarrassment and sweaty surprise.

She walked around with all of that tucked into her trousers?

“Drink more. It will soothe your throat.” She spoke calmly from behind you, unaware of your conundrum, instantly worsening the effects of what you’d seen. To distract yourself, you did as told and quickly poured another cup with shaking hands, and while it eased the odd feeling of choking, the damned tea did nothing for your sabotaging thoughts.

Turn around.

What?! No! Absolutely not. No turning around. You couldn’t.

Turn around. See.

See what exactly? There was only so much to look at!

Turn around.

No. No no no. That was exploitative, voyeuristic, and wr-

Do it.

Oh dammit all you wanted to! You wanted to so bad. You’d never seen one on a woman before and your eyes itched to see and understand, skirting along the waters of curiosity. That’s all it was. Curiosity. Born out of intrigue. Just to look, to ponder over a few questions, . To , to stare and to see indeed because no, you’d never seen one on a woman before- but out of a desperate grab for decorum and self-respect and to cover up your shame, you kept yourself firm, clearing your throat, burning with a million feelings as you faced the window.

“Thank you.” It was a soft croak, a lunge for normalcy, and when you heard the pad of footsteps walking away and a soft responding hum thrown over her shoulder, you finally began to relax.

You’d slipped into bed soon after, intent on forgetting all about what you’d seen, and quickly decided that it didn’t matter that you were her wife—your mind still scoffed at the sight of her sometimes, and you still overflowed with rage when you thought too hard about the circumstances of your marriage, so the whole ‘married’ ideal within itself was nothing beyond an altered last name and a hesitant new spot in her life. Which is why you never questioned her business either. No warlord was without a vice, after all, and for someone so openly hedonistic… well you had no doubt that she had dalliances, she was just clever enough to hide them well. She had had many years of practice, you were sure.

And thus—many years of pleasure.

That was the last thing your subconscious whispered before it faded off into dreams, drowning your warm room in shadows and your flushed body in sleep.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

That moment, as it turned out, was fated to become a catalyst for a very sudden, terrifying, brutally embarrassing, borderline obsessive bout of utter insanity.

You’d gone to bed shocked, unsettled, and curious, but otherwise alright. And you’d woken up confused, intrigued, and awed, but possessed.

There was no other way to describe it.

You only thought of her when necessary beforehand (which was actually quite often, but when your entire life revolved around the schedule of your new wife, it was quite hard not to), at the moments when you had to wonder if your plans were going to interfere with hers or if you were going to be late to one of her meetings or peacocking parties. That is to say, you still had your own agenda, which was what made all of it—the change, the adaptation, the learning, the passing time—somewhat tolerable. As opposed to what you assumed your behaviour was going to be in the beginning, you didn’t glare your head off or keep yourself deathly silent or snap back with a little more than a spoonful of attitude. Peace was a surprising outcome, but better than most others—and that’s how it went on for months on end.

Until that chilly evening when you couldn’t keep your eyes to yourself.

When you saw what you weren’t supposed to, which was a silly thought because you were quite literally married to her, but there was no initiation or passion or desire in that room. It was only the sin of your eyes, your mind, and your body that had gone and mucked it all up. She was only getting undressed, something you knew she did before bed, but never something you cared to pay attention to. By the Gods, Ambessa was gorgeous, even the blind could sense it, but your pride stood just as tall and unwavering as her muscular body. Even if it was hard to temper your irritation with her—because quite honestly, it was difficult to be continuously exhaustingly angry with someone when they peered down at you with heavy chocolate eyes and revealed new graceful lines of age in their face whenever their expression shifted while hearing you talk—you still clawed for any bit of sense you could pull back into yourself.

No, it wasn’t fair for a warlord to look that attractive, but there was nothing to be done about it. Your wife was sexy and terrible, you were chained and free, the world kept spinning, the stars kept burning. Nothing new.

Until something slammed into the walls of your routine and your peace, your hesitant relationships and your comfort, your beliefs and your feelings, and crushed it all to ash.

A something that buzzed behind your ears, that itched beneath your fingernails, and threw punches at your heart. A pounding, overwhelming, dizzying something that you couldn’t name ever in your life before that moment, never in its entirety, never with such certainty.

Like a poison.

Like a craving.

Like pure, raw, desperate desire.

You woke up the next morning after that night, alone in the big bed, smelling the distinct scents of her skin, her lotion, her hair product, her oils, her perfumes, her soap. There was a time when you thought it was obnoxious how good she smelled. It made your nose wrinkle for most of the first month, bringing a sour look to your face each morning, until the scents gradually faded, became familiar, and only popped back into your head when you noticed a change in product. There was no recognizable change that morning when you sat up in bed; the smell was just as strong as it always had been. But something in you was different. You sat there for a little bit, rather than getting up like usual, and stared at Ambessa’s unmade sheets. It was probably no longer warm. Just a creased red silken heaven. One that smelled very good. That held the imprint of her body, strong as it was. Hard and soft as it seemed. A space you felt the sudden urge to roll into, to curl up in, to drown upon, but instead, to distract yourself, you inhaled with big shuddering heaves and the spice, leather, and cinnamon of her scents all filled your lungs like the glowing Shimmer manufactured in Zaun. Intoxicating enough to send a shiver down your spine.

The howling creature chained to the back wall of your heart screamed at you to lean down to her pillow, to bring it to your face, to shove your nose into its softness and close your eyes with bliss, to lose yourself in the sudden realization that maybe, perhaps, possibly— you were physically attracted to your wife.

But you hadn’t gone mad, not yet, so rather than put the demon at ease and fill your hands with her pillow and your nose with her scent, you staggered out of bed and got dressed for the day.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

And from that moment onward, you became someone else.

A reserved soul caught in the lurch of your own confusing interest. Walking around with a furrowed brow, with filthy thoughts, with a burning heart.

You couldn’t meet her eye anymore. You couldn’t quip or banter or argue. You couldn’t lie down in bed at night without thinking about the fact that she’d be beside you, still strong, still capable, still beautiful, still powerful, and you couldn’t do anything about it. Couldn’t turn to her and talk, couldn’t curl up to her side, couldn’t sneak your hand down the hard plains of her stomach and explore.

Conversation was hard.

Catching glimpses of her in the hallway was hard.

Looking at her was like dipping your body into a pool of liquid metal.

Even painting became a nuisance. The draw of portraits grew to be lacklustre after observing the Noxians and recognizing that virtually no one in the city was anything but thin or muscular or thin and muscular. Despite being a welcoming place for the toughest foreigners, Noxus’ people, no matter the species, seemed only to be made of those in the most athletic shape or those past their prime, who were still, naturally, quite athletic. It was disheartening, recognizing that among the strong and wiry, you were a creature of supple flesh and bad stamina. That is why you stopped just as quickly as you started after trying to advance in your anatomical sketches—you simply didn’t want to be mocked by your own canvas.

Until you sat down at it again, some days after that fateful night, and found your mind taking backward steps into oblivion. Re-entering the memory of smooth veins, a gentle downward slope, an umber tip, soft mahogany skin, alluring scars, dark hair and darker shadows, a body fit for war and pleasure. For battle and sex. For blood and cum. You felt your hand spread across the page, all phantom movements and whispered brushes of paint, so desperate to capture her countenance… her strength… the two sloping lines of her groin, the thick muscle of her legs, the sweet hourglass of her waist… oh to have it drawn before you, free for admiring… for fantasizing…

It was the first paint brush you broke. The wood splintered the very moment you tossed it, smashed it, across the floor of the balcony. And when you turned away from the remnants, looking back at your canvas, five well-placed lines greeted you with sultry hellos, marking the very beginning of a thick erotic figure between walnut thighs.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

You watched her train two weeks later.

Sweat decorated her torso, her temples, her ankles. Tight red fabric ran wet with the salt of it. The bottoms of her feet were dusted with fine orange sand. Her grunts and growls of effort made her chest heave.

At first you weren’t sure why you were there, lurking in the shadows with an advisor rambling off at your side, watching your warlord wife like a stalker rather than a partner, but when she flipped a male warrior over her shoulder and tossed him to the ground without breaking form or stumbling, recognition finally flashed through your thoughts. Of course. It was a self-test. That’s why your feet had taken you to the outdoor training grounds. That’s why you were studying her so closely.

It was an unconscious grab for reassurance.

Am I genuinely attracted to her? Or just intrigued by what’s under her pants?

Ambessa kicked a man’s spine so hard he tripped forward and didn’t get back up.

Ambessa dodged a punch, deflected another, and elbowed the side of a woman’s head with such speed and force that she caved, groaned, hit the dust, and didn’t get back up.

Ambessa straddled another’s waist, headbutted them before they could flinch, and shoved their weak reaching arm aside. They didn’t get back up.

But she did.

She did. Every time.

With a short breath and a tense expression on her face, she did. Unfolding and standing to her true height. Beautiful skin, naked shoulders and biceps, all bared to the scorching sun. Her scars glittered. Her braids swung wildly against her back. Her hold on a deep red-wooded staff loosened. Then she passed it off to a soldier who ran up to her side and turned to address the collective wounded pride of the fighters at her feet.

“No matter the position you are in, no matter the grip of your enemy or the state of your body, you never take your eyes off of your opponent. Even if you must twist your neck or strain your shoulders, you face them. Force them to see your fire. Your determination to succeed, even in death. Am I understood?”

An echoed response, “Yes, General Medarda”, spread through the grounds, from everyone nearby, those training, those waiting, and you swallowed at the sound of it. A steady collection of voices bowing to her will, addressing her by title, acknowledging her authority. It was, in its purest, most recognizable form, the very essence of power.

And you then, in its most recognizable form, were the very essence of lust.

Your hurried fleeing steps meant nothing to your advisor, but they spoke so many truths to you at once.

You’d found your answer, and were all the more doomed for it.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

“You’ve been terribly quiet these days.” When she entered the room later that evening, some hours after you fled the training grounds to hide your blushing face and burning loins in the privacy of your chambers, her voice was low and inquisitive. Almost… amused?

Not terribly surprising—she always seemed to be vaguely smug or entertained by one thing or another, usually at someone else’s expense, so you figured it was residue from whatever she’d been doing before returning to the bedroom that night. However, her blunt acknowledgement, holding an air of expectant confrontation, set your heart racing.

Does she know?

What a silly question. Born from paranoia.

She couldn’t. She wasn’t a mind reader, she couldn’t possibly make that inference, and ever since you found out about her not-so-little secret, you’ve been quite strict about keeping your eyes to yourself. No wandering gazes. No hypnotized stares. Barely even glancing. Except when she didn’t know you were there. Or when she just so happened to be looking somewhere else. Or was too busy to pay much attention to her surroundings. Either way, she couldn’t possibly have known. But that didn’t stop you from tugging the book you were reading up further to shield your face and hide your nerves. Ambessa Medarda could sniff out anxiety, fear, weakness like a bloodhound. Caution was necessary, imperative, if only to save you from your own mortifying embarrassment.

Though what could you say to get her off your trail if she’d found your scent?

“There hasn’t been anything to talk about,” accompanied by a shrug and a soft sigh, your tone was as falsely relaxed as it could be. It threw a flimsy veil over the tension coiled in your body beneath the sheets; already you were feeling the familiar anxious sensation of itchy ankles and restless limbs, quite suddenly aware that you were now stuck in the same room as a decorated warlord. One that was known for her proficiency in manipulation. And making threats. Lucky you. Lucky lucky you.

“No?” A pause. “I would’ve thought you’d found the approaching art festival to be… inviting.” Ah. So she was in a very playful mood, walking around with an obvious smirk dancing across her charming lips, using that bouncy, teasing bell-ish tone she undertook when something was amusing. If you weren’t suspicious, some part of you would’ve found it almost… cute. But you were drowning in anxiety. What a strange thing she said. Why did she mention an art festival? You weren’t aware one even existed in Noxus. Was it true? Was it a veiled accusation? Bait? A test?

Had she- oh gods. Had she seen the painting?

Your fingers twitched and tightened around the covers of your book. She couldn’t have. She… well you hadn’t actually gotten rid of it, had you? It wasn’t a very detailed piece, a bystander with an untrained eye couldn’t even begin to fathom what it was, what it would become, but you swore some of the artworks hanging around the compound walls had been made by her. And if that was true, then she had an eye for art. And if she had an eye for art… well. Your heart sang murder in your ears.

How fucking maddening. Was it on purpose? The clever way in which she set you on edge while strutting about and taking off her clothes? The easy sway of strong arms didn’t seem strategic, but why would it be? She was masterful. Throwing the layers over the back of the chaise, leaving the armour on the duvet, drawing your eyes like a greedy kitten to milk. The stained lamps beside the bed were lit low, painting the room in reds and oranges. They cast smaller shadows, leaving her body on display. And you couldn’t help but stare like a woman in a museum. Your depraved eyes traced the path of her legs while you answered her, hoping in the back of your mind that your words would distract her from your wandering thoughts.

“I- well I simply didn’t know Noxus had an art festival. I wasn’t aware you… well… I suppose I was just too busy to notice.” You bailed out of your sentence, switched your mind half way through, and tried to recover. It was hasty. Clunky. So revealing of some secretive thing that you didn’t want to share.

You would never do well in war.

And she seemed to agree. Her shaking head, muffled scoff, and jump of her shoulders said enough without saying anything at all. But you didn’t particularly care. You were too busy resuming your admiration of the clean dark undercut peaking out beneath her braids.

“Of course not. Because you are of the belief that warriors are incapable of entertaining anything other than battle.” Now that was an accusation if you’d ever heard one, stated with blank amusement and an air of scorn.

How wonderful a talent she had for fanning the flames of your irritation. It sparked back to life the very second you heard her tone—definite and factual. A claim you were not going to stand for. In only a blink, she reversed that momentary strike of attraction that clenched around your soul and replaced it quite easily with a flare of overwhelming anger.

“I never said that.” To accompany your harsh growl of a statement, you yanked your book down to rest on your lap, still held open but cast to another corner of your mind as you glared at the back of her head.

Ambessa continued to undress, totally unbothered, either not caring that she’d pissed you off or somehow not noticing. It was definitely the former.

“You did not have to,” she shrugged, “it’s obvious.”

Obvious?!

Your brow furrowed so hard, so fast, you must’ve looked a little funny.

What in the world was she going on about? She didn’t have one clue about what you thought of Noxians. You were well aware that there was more to them than their precious military state. They were human too, after all. Well most of them. Either way, their culture was admittedly quite fascinating—even if you hated it sometimes. Even if you wanted to literally be anywhere else when you had to be present at 90% of the meetings. But apparently your new wife thought you were barbaric and hateful.

“Obvious?!” You barked, spluttered, and gave her a wide-eyed offended look. “You have no idea-”

Apparently she didn't care much to explain because Ambessa Medarda, warlord, strategist, temptress that she was, chose that very moment to undo her hip-guards, fling off the red sash around her waist, and shove her grey trousers down over the swell of her ass and thighs with a swift final whoosh. Done before you could blink. One second they were there, the next they were gone. And in their place? A whole lot of smooth, scarred, dark skin. Absolutely drool-worthy.

You would have been mad to just ignore it. You couldn’t even if you tried. And you didn’t. You didn’t try at all. What kind of wife would you be anyway if you didn’t admire the curves of her calves or the chorded muscle of her thighs, the balance of her steady legs or the shape of her knees, the bones in her ankles or the…

The bulge.

Of fucking course.

The fucking bulge.

Clothed in deep scarlet fabric, pressed generously against a high waisted pair of panties. It was pushed off to the side, forced into a gentle curve, so thick it could barely be contained–and yet it was. Somehow. Maybe the Gods were holding it up or something. The simple shape of it left a deliciously obvious print you could trace with your eyes.

The very picture of tantalizing eroticism. Flexing inner thighs. Abdominals rippling. Scars bared to the light. Muscular forearms easily bigger than your hands, reaching up to take off her undershirt. Not for show, not even with much intent, but so excruciatingly sexy nonetheless.

As soon as your gaze caressed the outline of firm balls and your mind was suddenly reacquainted with the knowledge of Ambessa Medarda’s dick, a shocked gasp fell from your lips and your head spun around so quickly it nearly went toppling off onto the floor. Oh you couldn’t help but act like it was a crime–a sin–a trespassing–to ever see your wife unclothed. Like a virgin stepping foot into a whorehouse for the first time. A mortifying ordeal, one you couldn’t seem to avoid, especially when the first scandalized words out of your stunned mouth were:

“Have you no decency?!” Flustered, loud, embarrassing, and high-pitched, you’d unexpectedly transformed into a nervous student with a schoolboy crush.

It didn’t help that your cheeks and chest were slowly growing blotchy with a dark blush, or that you felt like you were on fucking fire, easily growing hot and sweaty beneath the summer sheets. And she didn’t even have to do anything. Barely even showed anything!

Just stood there… so tall… sculpted… soft…

Only the brief sight of her covered cock had you spiraling. Why? You’d seen them before. You knew how they looked flaccid and otherwise, though the latter was only a one-time thing that never went anywhere. Regardless. They were not especially pretty or interesting. Maybe it had to do with the person? No. Well- yes. It definitely had to do with the person.

You desired the one you loathed most. Wasn’t that how the story always went? You wanted what you couldn’t have or what was seen as taboo or what was seen as restricted. Some form of primal self-torture. And it didn’t help to be aware of such a sentiment when married to one of the most coveted, breathtaking, infuriating warlords in all of Noxus. Maybe even the whole world. Nothing about it was strange or taboo enough to evoke such an odd response… and yet? She was Ambessa Medarda. And you were you. And that wasn’t odd because you had a wedding band around your finger with her family crest sculpted into the gold. And you slept beside her at night. Just a quick roll-over away from a broad back and veiny hands and huge biceps and a beast of what you were sure was insurmountable pleasure. You didn’t know if you wanted to want her, but there didn’t seem to be a choice. Something in you claimed it as instinct. Something else said it was inevitable. Another thing said that it didn’t matter what it was and that you should just give in anyway. Which one to listen to? One? All? Neither?

You swallowed hard, feeling your hand shake as you pressed it to your cheek and tried to block your peripherals even though your entire face was already turned to the wall.

Such fluster and confusion. All because you were curious. All because you wanted to know.

What did Ambessa Medarda taste like? Sweat and metal? Spices and leather? Sweet? Salty? What did she feel like? Was her body soft? Warm? When you pressed against her muscles, were they really as rock-hard as they seemed? Totally unyielding? Were her scars sensitive? Were even the smallest ones healed into silky peach lines?

Did the paradise between her thighs smell like her? Her body oils? Her soap?

Did she ever caress it, imagining a warm tongue lapping at her desperately? Dragging her between soft palms, with gentle tugs and quiet moans?

Would it feel like silk against your lips? Slipping across your cheek? Pressed to the back of your throat? You’d need to be trained… Taught how to take her and all of her twitching and throbbing and thrusting without causing too much of a scene. Both hands shoved into your hair, pulling your mouth close close close…

It would be so big inside. So full. You didn’t have to have it in you to know it would take some adjustment. Some… stretching, Gods…

You were too busy getting lost staring at a spot on the wall, picturing her in your head, falling into your own thoughts, to see the strange inquisitive look, raised brow, and head tilt that Ambessa was directing at your back.

“In Noxus,” she spoke indulgently, her voice smoother than honey, “nudity is not a prospect built upon shame and judgment, but rather the liberation of embracing strength. And vulnerability.”

Great. Another lecture from the brilliant General Medarda. All fucking hail.

You knew Noxian customs were different. They didn’t walk around naked, no, but their public bath-houses and hot springs were common and safe. Designed for the relaxation of the soldier’s body. Gods, she probably thought you were stupid. Or a child. Or a prude! Which only served to worsen your irritation because you were actually none of the above. Seeing other people nude was fine (barring the exception of your wife), and yes it was hard coming to terms with your own body at times, but you weren’t riddled with shame. It was only a matter of personal preference to cover up and not bare the meat of your shoulders and torso as much as the Noxians did. You were fatter than them–simply the truth–but it had nothing to do with humiliation. Only decency. Only the way bodies were made. And anyway, what did she know about judgment? Her body was a sight more glorious than the peak of Targon slicing through a gold-pink sunrise.

You huffed.

“I didn’t say that because I think-”

“It is imperative to trust your body. To cherish it. To hone it and know it. Shying away from flesh will only result in failure at the most crucial moment—when you will need that trust the most.” You hated how important and wise she sounded. How much sense she made. You just wanted to turn around, lunge at her, and scrabble, fight, grapple until her entire body was painted in big red scratches. That would teach her. Yeah. A little pain. Her body, her back, stained with your marks, a sign of your anger, your hatred, your deep ruinous passion.

Yeah. She’d look good like that. Roughed up. Sweaty. Heaving. Shivering.

It was a shame that even in fantasy, you couldn’t hold your own against her. Not in any way that mattered, at the very least. So you spat fire instead.

“It’s not me I’m concerned with.” Your hands clutched hard at the sheets, having already forgotten your book a while ago, “and will you stop interrupting me? Not everything has to be a learning experience, Ambessa. I just wasn’t- I mean I- you- I’m simply not familiar with it all! Still becoming accustomed.” It was as diplomatic as you could get and as far from embarrassing as you could stand. Even with the false starts. And squeakiness.

The soft padding of bare feet told you that Ambessa took a walk toward a dresser near the hearth, across the room, far from your trembling figure, and while her back was turned, you took a deep steadying breath. How interesting it was that doing that became easier when she was some feet away. Like her presence was so intense it hurt your lungs to work.

“Six months is not long enough?” A joke laced her tone, warming it like melting sugar, and you licked your lips nervously.

Six months was enough. Then I saw too much. And now you have me half convinced that I’ve gone mad. Or been drugged. Somehow seduced by your body.

“I guess not,” you shrugged, then went quiet, and waited for the sound of a drawer sliding shut to finally speak again. “You mentioned an art festival?”

“I did.”

Interesting. What could that have possibly looked like in Noxus?

Conjured images of golden battlefield paintings, house crest embroideries, and market stalls of tender meat floated into your mind. Travelers, most from surrounding areas, and weaponsmiths displaying new designs of blades, bows, and armours. Red, black, and silver colour schemes. An air of authority and threat, with eyes always watching and hands always ready to reach. A stifling place, quite unfit for the gentle serenity of your preferred paintings, of pastels and flowers.

Your brow furrowed. Driven by a sudden bolt of intrigue, you decided to ask. Just to create conversation. To get her as far away from the previous moment as you possibly could.

No more thinking about her body. Just speak.

“What is that like?”

There was some rustling happening behind you, very brief, before her footsteps faded away.

“Wait,” was all she said, a firm command, before the washroom door closed.

You were left in silence.

Left to stew. Left to stare at the wall. Left to try and gather yourself.

Damn her. Damn her. Damn her. Damn her.

A few minutes later, the door opened again and steady footsteps grew near. When the bed dipped on her side, shallowly felt because you sat so close to the opposite edge, your body fell tense. Rigid. All you could do was freeze as she settled in, like a rabbit half-convinced that if they didn’t move, the lioness wouldn’t see them.

But your lioness was a bit smarter than that, and she must have been truly exhausted after her day because there was never a time in which you both sat in the same bed, awake, engaged in conversation, without animosity. You simply expected her to have gotten out casual clothes like her training garbs, then tell you about the festival, then fuck off to her office or the kitchens or the courtyard again to stretch with Rictus like she usually did, leaving you in peace. But no. Instead, that big warm body of hers slid into the silk sheets beside you, so close but so far, and you felt her presence instantly, like an oncoming storm, and still you stared at the wall as though the very sight of her would send you spiraling again (which it probably would—hence the avoidance). And since you had no sensible excuse to get up and scramble away, to escape the danger of untrodden territory, you were trapped. With the lioness. No way out. Only Ambessa.

“The annual art festival is a celebration of Noxian history, strength, and culture.” She either hadn’t noticed the strangeness of your situation or simply didn’t care. Her tone gave away nothing, it held no edge, no tease, no belittlement, no manipulation, only the pleasant desire to inform. And you actually found it quite… well… momentarily pleasing. Neutrality suited her well. When she indulged in truth, it seemed as though you didn’t mind listening. Your hands moved to put your book away, eager to find something to do, as she continued. “Artists of all kinds, local and otherwise, line the streets. Most gravitate toward the blacksmiths and weapon crafters, for personalization purposes. Some find themselves in front of menders and seamstresses as clothes have a propensity for getting… snagged… in battle. Regardless of which vendors attend, it always draws a heavy crowd.”

When you heard her extinguishing the flame beside the bed, and saw the light in the room dim, you finally allowed yourself to turn and see her throw the covers over bare legs. Shadows cradled the curves of her biceps and forearms, kissed the veins and shifting muscle, and you sent a quiet thank you up to any gods listening that she decided to wear a slip. It hugged her body, fell like silky water, and still covered all the skin that made you dizzy.

It matched the same deep red of the soft bonnet she had stretched protectively over salt and pepper braids, off-setting the bare canvas of her skin. You couldn’t help but allow your wandering eyes to roam free. No tint to her full lips, no shadow atop her eyelids, no darkening of her lower lashline. Only the cheekbones, the scars, the wrinkles, the colours. Natural. Somehow… softer, but not by much. And looking at her like that, from where you sat by her side, seeing the framing of her lips and brow against shadow, you were struck with a sudden bolt of… endearment? A gentle embarrassing warmth and adoration that tickled your heart. When she sat with her broad back against the headboard and looked at you, chocolate eyes and bare skin shining in the light of the lamp over your shoulder, face weary with the want for sleep but her gaze no less sharp, focused, wearing a protective covering for the hair she did take so much pride in, smelling of oils and spices and that unique scent… no condescension… no threats… well she could have almost—almost—been a woman you loved. A woman you married. Happily. With no political intent. With a genuine smile and willing hands. Content. Honoured. Joined together on a beautiful wedding day followed by a beautiful wedding night.

Perfection rather than convenience.

Desire rather than obligation.

Freedom rather than entrapment.

Then she opened her mouth - and you were swiftly reminded of why you were so reluctant to ‘marry’ her in the first place.

“It is a tactic used to build morale, but is ultimately a waste of time and resources.” A waste of time? An art festival? You stared at her, feeling your lips part slowly in realization, disgusted awe, and disbelief. “I plan my visits to smaller territories beforehand so I can miss the commotion. Rebellions do not care for celebrations and they will take any existing distraction as an opportunity for rallying.” She spoke with such conviction, you wondered if you were the mad one for believing festivals were harmless.

“So you just… don’t go?” A silly question you already knew the answer to, but what else was there to say? Arguing with Ambessa Medarda was like arguing with the mirror—you’d somehow lose every time.

She tilted her head, slowly, casting jagged scars into the light, and somewhere in the back of your mind, past the part that seemed razor-focused on her beauty, something whispered that you were edging into dangerous territory.

“I already have access to all I need,” she hummed. “What else would I find? A new weapon? Armour?” A smirk curled across dark lips, patronizing and arrogant. “Perhaps a painting?” She paused, eyes burning into your skull.

Nowhere to run, nowhere to go.

“Or a pretty little thing to sample?” It came out as a purr. Low and sinful. Indulgent and wicked. Spoken from between sharp white canines and sanguine lips. Your skin went hot. Images flashed through your mind. Bodies against bodies and mouths against mouths and the idea of her eyelashes fluttering beneath the weight of pleasure. If she noticed the sudden glaze of your eyes, she said nothing. Only gave you an austere look, powerful and righteous, with a slight lift of her chin.

“They have nothing to offer me.” The indulgence was gone, replaced by steel. And when she cast her mocha gaze down the expanse of your body, hidden underneath sleek bedding, she drew imaginary fire over your curves. “Nothing I do not already have.”

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

This was my momentary return... I want to eat her up. She is my everything. Thank you for reading. Please remember that just because she has a penis doesn't mean she is masculine, male-adjacent, or framed that way. This is a LESBIAN fic. Be civil.

P. S. I see the asks in my inbox and they make me happy. I might get to work on some of those requests but no promises. - Rip x

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

#rippersz #fanfictionwriter #fanfic #ambessa medarda #ambessa medarda arcane #ambessa arcane #ambessa medarda x reader #ambessa medarda x you #ambessa x reader #x reader fic #x reader #fem!reader #fem reader #wlw #smut #chubby x reader

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kikibug16 · 2 days ago

Text

The Hidden One - KPDH (chapter 2)

summary: The world knows that HUNTR/X is three members. Three hunters that fight demons to protect their fans. But there actually is another member hidden in the background, and she holds a power that is greater than them all.

oc x reader

wc: 2,6 k

a/n: Hi! Here is chapter two. This one follows the promotional period of Golden and a small appearance of the boys at the end. Let me know what you think! (Besides the plot of the original kpdh movie, I own any added plot lines and characters. DO NOT STEAL MY STORY)

CAPITALIZED ITALICS = song lyrics

Regular italics = character thoughts

The girls animatedly talked the whole car ride. Bobby kept reading messages from fans expressing their excitement for the new single. Every time he read one, the girls would shout excitedly and get more hyped for the performance. He probably read about fifty of them by the time they made it to the interview.

Aera stayed behind as usual and watched as the girls explained their new song. She stood next to Bobby as they both watched with proud looks in their eyes, but there was a bit of sadness present in hers. Every time the girls did an interview, she would stand off to the side listening to each of the questions. Sometimes she would give her own answer in her head, imagining that she was up there with them. Interviews were a time for her to zone out and think about what it would be like if she didn’t have to keep herself hidden.

Her thoughts were soon interrupted by Bobby, “You know, I thought the traction the song was getting online was great,” he started. “But seeing the fans in person always makes me feel so much better,” he finished, staring at the crowd in awe.

Tearing her gaze away from the girls, she looked at the crowd behind the barricade. She saw their excitement and eagerness to hear what the girls had to say. They wanted to learn everything about the new single, finding new ways to fall in love with it. Bobby’s words made her realize that she felt the same way. Even though they didn’t know who she was, it was the fans that made her feel special. Hearing them sing out their songs and talking about Huntrix made Aera feel seen. She was a part of what they were talking about, and the fans appreciated their hard work.

Especially now, with the release of Golden. She made sure she included a piece of herself in the song. So, seeing the praise on the track made her feel like they were praising her directly. Not only did this song connect her with the girls, but it finally connected her to the fans.

“Yeah,” she said after a brief silence. “The fans always give me energy.”

Bobby nodded at her words. He knew that it was hard for her to stay in the background. He always told her that she could go up there, but she always shot down the idea. She constantly told him that she was fine with her role, but he could see that she wasn’t entirely satisfied. He tried asking the girls about it one night. They just told him that they decided for it to be like that a long time ago, and it was for Aera’s safety. He never got an explanation on the last reasoning, though.

Looking back at Aera, he noticed a small longing in her eyes. She always got caught up in work and was constantly stressed out, all the girls were. Suddenly, an idea popped into his head. “Hey,” he started with a smile. “How about after Golden promotions and the Idol Awards, we all take a vacation?”

“A vacation,” she said, finally turning to face him.

“Yeah!”

“Where would we go?”

“Well, we don’t have to go anywhere. We can all stay here and just do fun activities.”

“What fun activities do you have in mind?” she questioned, liking his idea more and more.

“I don’t know maybe, karaoke, movie night, or go to an amusement park!”

Aera thought over his plan for a while. “I think that sounds great,” she concluded with a smile.

“We can talk to the girls about it later,” he finished, satisfied that he was able to cheer her up. What kind of manager would he be if he couldn’t take care of his girls?

The rest of the interview went smoothly and finished quickly with the announcement of the live show tonight. All the girls piled into the car again, heading to the venue. The next few hours were a blur. One moment they were in the car, next they were walking in the venue, and now they were all dressed ready for rehearsal.

Aera was with Mira and Zoey, looking at all the fans’ comments about their song.

“Oh, look at this one!” Zoey excitedly said, shoving the phone in their faces.

“Awe,” the other two girls said.

“Look at the one I found,” Aera also showed.

This back and forth of showing comments lasted a while as they waited for Rum to finish getting ready. She was taking longer than usual, but the girls gave her space. All of a sudden, a voice interrupted the girls.

“What are you looking at?” Rumi said, finally exiting her dressing room.

“Just some fan comments,” Mira said, holding up her phone to show her the one they were looking at.

With perfect timing, Bobby knocked on the door. “Girls, are we ready?”

“Yes, Bobby!” they shouted, putting away their phones and heading out the door.

He led them all down the hallway towards the stage. Holding open the door for them to pass through, entering the wings. They all walked to the table that was there and started putting on their mics. Except for Aera, they went out of the wings and onto the stage once they were finished. Aera stayed in the dark out of view from the staff who were placed just in front of the audience chairs. She couldn’t see the girls from where she stood. She could move out of the wings a bit, but the staff might see her, so she refrained from doing so.

“Okay girls, are we ready to start?” Bobby asked them.

“Yep,” the three said.

Bobby discreetly moved to look at Aera in the wings. When they made eye contact, she nodded that she was ready. With all of them confirming, he told the venue staff that they could start rehearsal.

They started practicing the song from the top. The girls on stage went through the choreography and sang each of their parts. Backstage, Aera did the choreography as well, waiting for her part to come up. After a bit of waiting, she raised her mic, stopping her movements, and started singing the chorus.

WE’RE GOIN’ UP, UP, UP, IT’S OUR MOMENT

YOU KNOW TOGETHER WE’RE GLOWIN’

GONNA BE, GONNA BE GOLDEN

OH, UP, UP, UP WITH OUR VOICES

영원히 깨질 수 없는

GONNA BE, GONNA BE GOLDEN

OH, I’M DONE HIDIN’, HOW I’M SHININ’

LIKE I’M BORN TO-

Aera quickly stopped singing as soon as she heard Rumi’s voice crack. Her head turned towards the stage abruptly, caught off guard. None of their voices has ever cracked like that before. What’s wrong?

Coming out a little from backstage, she came into view of the members on stage. She caught Mira’s eye, asking her silently what was going on. She gave her an unsure glance, obviously as startled as her. She didn’t get to ask about it, though, when Rumi immediately said they would start from the top again. Although concerned, she went back to her spot ready to go again.

The song started again smoothly. Rumi was singing fine, and Aera relaxed a little. She got back into the groove of singing. However, when they made it to the chorus, it happened again. On the same exact lyric, Rumi’s voice cracked. Aera stopped singing again, now more concerned than last time. She was going to ask what happened, but Rumi’s voice stopped her from speaking.

“I just need five. I’m gonna take five,” she quickly said, leaving the stage to go back to her dressing room.

Zoey and Mira both looked at Aera, signaling to follow them. She discreetly exited, making sure she wasn’t seen by the staff in the front. Once she passed them, she jogged up to the girls.

“What’s going on with Rumi?” she asked as soon as she caught up to them.

“I don’t know,” Zoey said, her voice laced with concern.

“She was coughing after yesterday’s show, but it’s gotten worse,” Mira added.

“She was coughing yesterday?”

“Yeah, she said it was nothing, but now I’m not so sure.”

The three girls walking into the dressing room, Rumi would be able to tell them what’s going on. Walking up to her door, Mira knocked, “Hey, are you doing okay in there?”

No response came from the other side of the door. This time Zoey tried, “Rumi, you can tell us what’s wrong?”

Again silence. This time Aera couldn’t hold back anymore. “Rumi I’m opening the door,” she said, turning the knob, swinging the door open. But instead of Rumi sitting in her room, they met with nothing. She wasn’t there.

“Where is she?” Zoey immediately asked, seeing the empty room.

“I don’t know,” Aera responded.

“Come on guys, let’s look around for her,” Mira suggested.

They all split up to look around backstage. They checked the loading dock, dressing rooms, and even underneath the stage. But they found no trace of Rumi. Defeated, they all met up in the wings of the stage.

“Did you find her?” they all asked at the same time, that alone answering each other’s questions.

“What do we do?” Zoey asked.

“Do we cancel the show?” Aera chimed in.

“I think we have too,” Mira said with her head down.

The two nodded, now looking for Bobby. They found him still at the front of the stage. His body was jittering with nerves, and they weren’t going to make it any better. Aera walked ahead of the other two, so that way it would look like she was one of the staff.

“Bobby,” she called slowly.

“Oh my gosh,” he sighed out turning to them. “Is Rumi ready to go?”

Aera hesitated a bit before saying, “She’s not here anymore.”

“What?” he nearly shouted.

“We can’t find her. She’s not in her dressing room or anywhere else in the building.”

“What do we do then?” his breath picked up.

“We have to cancel the show,” Mira spoke up from behind her.

“Cancel?” Bobby said, panicking even more.

“We can’t do it without Rumi,” Zoey added.

They gave him a moment to think about it and calm down. After a moment, his ragged breaths steadied, and he looked up at them. “Let’s cancel the show.”

He sent them back to their dressing rooms to get their stuff while he talked with the studio staff. Quickly, they walked back, gathering all of the stuff and collecting Rumi’s stuff as well. They met Bobby when they were done outside their dressing rooms.

“Let me know when you find her,” he said, opening the car door for them.

They all nodded before stepping inside. The car ride home was quiet. They were all thinking about what just happened. Their thoughts were consumed with worry for Rumi. What was happening?

They’ve been sitting in the same spot, waiting for Rumi. It felt like hours sitting there, watching the elevator to see if it would open. They had already changed into their pajamas; they just needed to wait for Rumi. Finally, they heard the sound they’d been waiting for, the ding of the elevator.

Rumi paused, seeing them waiting there for her. Her hand was placed around her in a protective position. At that, Aera knew that Rumi needed comfort. While Mira and Zoey went closer to Rumi, Aera went to the kitchen to make her some healing food. When it was done, they all sat at the table in silence, waiting for Rumi to talk to them first.

“I-I’m sorry about the show,” Rumi said after a long silence.

The girls quickly reassured her. Telling her that it’s not her fault and that they could reschedule later. While the fans might be disappointed now, her voice and condition were more important. But their hopeful words didn’t change Rumi’s sadness.

“My voice, it’s in trouble,” she said, shocking them all.

“Wait, in trouble?” Mira said, voicing all of their concerns. “Then why did you push up the Golden release?”

“Because we’re so close, and it’s so important.”

Aera could tell that there was something more that was bothering her. Her gloominess couldn’t just be caused by the show; it was something more than that. Even Mira and Zoey’s joking around about Celine didn’t help. But she didn’t push her, not wanting her to feel pressured to tell them anything. So instead, she stayed quiet.

“Rumi, why don’t we take a break?” Zoey suggested. “We’ll skip the Idol Awards this year and-”

“No,” Rumi quickly said. “It’s our most important show.”

Aera understood where she was coming from. Skipping the Idol Awards meant they couldn’t strengthen the honmoon for the year. But what good is strengthening the honmoon if one of them is struggling?

“We just can’t skip it,” Rumi continued. “Not when I’m so close.”

Those last words confused her. It fueled her idea that there was something else bothering Rumi. It almost encouraged Aera to ask, but seeing her friend so distressed, she decided that her question could wait. She didn’t want to be responsible for Rumi getting more upset.

“But you need to rest your voice, Rumi,” she settled on saying. “If you push your voice, it could get worse.”

“I know,” she said, defeated.

“How about we rest until the Idol Awards?” Zoey suggested.

“Yeah, that would give you about two weeks to get better,” Aera encouraged the idea.

“That sounds good,” Rumi said, her face lighting up slightly.

“Okay,” Mira chimed in. “Any ideas on how to fix her voice?”

“I do have one idea,” Zoey said suspiciously.

“Just one?” Mira asked, noticing the glint in Zoey’s eyes.

“Actually, 57,” she excitedly said. The rest of the girls smiled slightly, already used to the girl’s antics.

“Let’s start with my favorite,” she continued. “Don’t worry. It’s totally legit.”

With that, she talked to them about a special tonic that could help Rumi. With no other options, they determined they would get it first thing tomorrow. The night ended with the girls chatting and eating, Rumi’s mood lighting up by the second. Aera always loved moments like these. She hoped that more of these could happen during the break.

“Jinu,” a deep, menacing voice said. The words were directed at a boy standing in front of the flames. Although the words were directed at one, four other boys stood there as well.

“Yes,” the boy replied.

“There’s one more thing I want you to while you’re out there.”

“And what is that? the boy said impatiently. Gwi-ma never told them anything, but when he did, he always had to do it at the last minute.

“There is someone else besides the hunters that you need to destroy,” he started. “Someone who holds a great power.

The boys stayed quiet. He had never told them about this other person before. It had always been taking down the hunters, but why was this new person suddenly so important?

“For centuries, this hidden person has stayed in the background, but they were always around with the hunters. I’ve tried to get others to find this person, but they’ve all failed.”

“Then how do you expect us to find them?” Jinu interrupted.

“Get closer to the hunters. Look at them when they are not in the public eye, the other one should be with them at those times.”

“Is there anything else?”

“Yes,” he continued. “This person should project a unique energy. If you feel that, then you found them.”

The boys nodded silently, about to walk away to start their mission, but they were stopped by Gwi-ma once more. “Remember, you will never succeed with the other one around.”

With that final message, the boys disappeared.

thank you for reading!

taglist: @your-favorite-god @faefanatic

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